


Killing Me Softly

by Str4y



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cocaine, Drug Use, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intoxication, M/M, Minor Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Rough Sex, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Str4y/pseuds/Str4y
Summary: Minho, who is on the brink of death, wanders into a lounge for a drink when a song by a touring musician grabs his heart by the strings.But if only he knew it wasn’t the musician that would steal his heart, but the artist.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 51
Kudos: 154
Collections: Be Kind: Rewind! | SKZ 90s Fic Fest





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SKZ 90s fest with the song Killing Me Softly(Fugees/Roberta Flack). I wrote more based on the original than the remake so I’ll link the original! 
> 
> [Killing Me Softly](https://youtu.be/DEbi_YjpA-Y)  
> This fest is 7/8 parts! I’ll post more chapters with time so I don’t overwhelm all at once! Thank you for reading. 
> 
> — mild disclaimer/some spoilers —
> 
> \- This is fictitious!!! 
> 
> -This work includes a lot of drug use, mentions and acts of self harm, and heavy angst. If for any reason that is too triggering or uncomfortable please avoid reading! Though there is a happy ending, the main characters go through a lot of angst to get there as well as talks of suicide and past character death. There is no character death besides mentioned past deaths of a parent, a pet, and someone later in the series from someone else’s past. Beyond that, there will be no other character death!!
> 
> \- also the first chapter has minor Minbin but I assure this is a minchan fic! 💛
> 
> Stay safe and thank you for reading!

* * *

Minho had a good life for a while. He had a decent apartment, a steady income, a lovely boyfriend, and a cat to keep him company. He had graduated from university and had a promising future. He had become a teacher for young children, and he loved it. He really did. 

But then he didn’t. 

Things had altered so quickly. Minho couldn’t keep up with anything after his mother passed away. They were so close, and somehow her death lingered into everything he did. He couldn’t eat, and he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even stand properly at her funeral. He remembered passing out from distress as guests exited the hall. 

He hadn’t been the same since she died. 

Slowly, things started to get worse. He’d become irritable at work, which wasn’t good considering he needed to be calm for his students. He yelled more, and got short with them. His temper was off the rails, and eventually he was let go. Something about a child who had snapped their pencils for fun had snapped something in him. _And he lost his job_. 

And then to make matters worse, his cat died. Minho remembered the day his mother brought the cat home. He had never loved anything more in his life. His cat had kept him safe and warm when his mother died. She would curl up into his arms as he cried, nudging against Minho’s tears before sleeping soundly beside him. She was a good cat. _And then she died_. 

Minho thought he’d at least have _him._ He thought that Seungmin would stay by his side, and that things would look up. But after months of struggling to find a job, and months of Minho’s apparent _moping,_ Seungmin had decided that enough was enough. Minho wished that instead of inviting Minho’s freckled neighbor into Minho’s bed, Seungmin would have just broken up with him. But he hadn’t, and Minho had to walk in on the two of them in his bed. _And then they broke up._

Perhaps that was the solidification of his true breaking point. No, maybe losing his apartment was. Months after losing his job, he hadn’t found a new one due to his reasoning for being released from his first one. Nobody wanted to hire a teacher who’d lost their temper on a student the way Minho had. And maybe the excuse of his mother’s death had worn his landlord's patience, because he threw Minho out on the streets. _And he lost his home._

Minho wasn’t one to ask for help. So he didn’t. Minho didn’t want to do anything after that. What was the point? 

So he wandered, aimlessly in the rain. He had a car. He did. And his car had all of his stuff, it did. But he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to live in his car. He didn’t want to wake up in fear every night that someone would steal his belongings or hurt him. He’d already had a few run-ins once he’d run out of gas and was forced to park his car behind shady buildings. He didn’t want to look like someone in need of help. But he was. And he knew that. 

_And he didn’t want to exist anymore_. 

So he made the decision to end things. And maybe it seemed over dramatic at first, but the sight of speeding cars on the road was too tempting. 

Minho stood at the corner, traffic zooming along the road as rain slapped his face and hair. 

He was shaking, watching the cars pass by him. Nobody around asked if he was okay. Nobody offered an umbrella. No taxi stopped. Nobody cared. 

Minho shut his eyes tight, taking one sole step forward before panic filled his body. Why was he panicking? He wanted this. He wanted things to end. He wanted to die. 

But he froze. He could hear the cars zooming and the people moving around him. 

And then he finally moved. His foot stepped off the curb, and he panicked, breath jagged and bones ready for the impact that never came. 

Minho opened his eyes, watching the crowd around him move across the street. The people waiting around him were moving, their umbrellas sprinkling extra water across Minho’s face as he scanned the crosswalk, cars stopped at his side. 

He _couldn’t_ do it.

* * *

And now he was both shaking from the cold, and parched. 

Wandering into a lounge wasn’t what Minho had on his agenda for the day. His only bullet point on his check list was _kill yourself_ , and that hadn’t gone as planned. So the rest of his day was completely free. And he had no idea what to do with it. 

But there he was, shaking from the cold at a wooden table with a glass of scotch nearly emptied in his grasp. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, maybe drinking himself to death would be easier. 

Minho brought the glass to his lips, taking too long a sip before sliding the glass onto the farther end of his table. 

_Nothing_ felt good. Despite the slight dizziness in his head, the alcohol hadn’t helped anything. He still felt numb and void. He still felt like he was making a phenomenal mistake by being at the lounge. 

The lights dimmed, or maybe that was just Minho’s dizziness. 

No, not his dizziness. There was the sound of a gentle strum. A guitar? Minho knew performers weren’t scarce around this particular area, but perhaps he hadn’t expected his focus to draw to the music so quickly. 

Minho looked up from his table, a man settled at the small stage on a bar stool, guitar resting in his lap as he slid his guitar pick against the strings. 

Attention. Minho focused his attention on the man. He recognized the melody. A little. He couldn’t be sure, but the music sounded so similar to what he’d heard— Ah.

Seo Changbin. 

Minho blinked through his haze, cold subsiding as the alcoholic heat took over. 

Seo Changbin was a musician. One that Minho had heard about from his coworkers at the school and from his old friends that were... that were long gone by now. 

Minho had never watched Changbin perform. He’d never really been too interested despite everyone’s incessant hype for the artist. But it had only taken a single chord for Minho to put all of his attention on Changbin. 

The song was... It was so sad. The song made Minho tense, it made him think, and it broke his heart. Changbin had such an interestingly sweet voice, and the lyrics... it was like the song had been made for him. 

Minho listened closely, fingers reaching for the empty glass, tapping against it to follow every strum of Changbin’s guitar. 

It was beautiful. 

Maybe his head was really fuzzy, but every lyric off of Changbin’s lips spoke out to him. In some odd way, every word just... It felt like the song was really for him. Loss. The song touched on loss, and hopelessness, and feeling worthless and like everything is against you—it hit so hard. And maybe Minho was imagining it but he could have sworn the singers eyes lingering on Minho. He must’ve imagined it, but he swore that he could see every speck of light in Changbin’s eyes. 

The song ended. Maybe Minho was crazy, but he could still feel eyes on him as Changbin adjusted himself for another song. His eyes... they were on him the entire time, right? 

Minho must’ve been searching for a reason. He wasn’t sure. 

At the end of Changbin’s stage, Minho had consumed more alcohol than he should have. Thankfully he was a more calm sort of drunk, and he couldn’t help but watch Changbin intensively, chin in his palm as his elbow struggled to stay in place at the table. He wasn’t sure why he had become so infatuated, perhaps it was just the nature of that particular song. 

No, maybe Minho wasn’t crazy. As Changbin stepped down from the stage and collected the small tip jar from the bottom of the stage that was relatively filled, he made his way down the aisle. 

Minho could see his eyes, lingering and watching Minho closely. He wasn’t making that up, the man was _actually_ watching him. Perhaps Minho looked miserable. Maybe he was mad that Minho hadn’t given him a cent while watching the entire performance. Or maybe he thought Minho was disgusting. Or a creep. God, he hoped he hadn’t looked like a creep by watching Changbin so closely. Perhaps that was why Changbin had watched him. 

But as Changbin passed him by, Minho stayed silent and to himself. And Changbin didn’t say a word to him. 

He must have imagined it. 

Minho stayed at the lounge for one more drink before being told he was cut off. Annoyed, he left and made paid way more than he intended. 

He wished he hadn’t entered the lounge, honestly. He could have been dead somewhere but now he was just humming the tune from Changbin’s stage in his head. Maybe aloud too, based on the way people were looking at him as he stumbled down the sidewalk. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have left, but he wanted to. He wanted to leave and... Fuck, he didn’t know what he wanted. 

He wanted to hear Changbin’s music again. He knew that much. He wanted to listen again so badly. Maybe he could buy—no, Minho had used most of his money to pay his lounge bill. He was fucked, wasn’t he? 

Somehow Minho made it to his car, nearly collapsing as he managed his way into the front seat. Thank god he had parked his car close by in this sketchy alley. 

Minho felt so stupid. His stomach was tense and his mind fuzzy. He locked his car and crawled into the backseat, curling onto his side as he dragged a pile of his clothes underneath his head. 

Why was he still alive? 

* * *

Minho was sad to see another day. After waking to a massive hangover and downing a few pain pills, he changed his clothes and decided to wander back to the lounge. He didn’t have much, but maybe he could afford some chips. 

He wasn’t honestly sure what he was going to do now. 

He had shoved all help away. He had cursed at his closest friends and his phone was long gone. He had no contact with anyone. He had no desire. He was... Minho was a lost cause, wasn’t he? 

Were the chips worth it?

Maybe. 

Minho could hear the music the moment he opened the lounge door. The familiar tune that had been in his mind all day yesterday. 

He settled into the same chair as before, the basket of fries over chips settled before him. He had enough for those, so he figured something warm would be better than chips. 

He hated that he had no other food. 

Minho watched the stage, eating his fries too quickly. Changbin’s voice was smooth again, and the song sounded just as perfect as it had the previous day. Changbin was just... very alluring. Minho understood the hype now. The song was speaking to him. Despite wanting to die so badly, he just wanted to listen to this song and sit in the lounge forever. 

But forever wasn’t real. And just as the other day, Changbin gathered his tip jar and left. Though this time Minho was positive that Changbin had been watching his every move. Minho noticed the glare he received as the musician walked past him. 

So he hadn’t imagined it. But based on the way Changbin had looked at him, Minho figured it was a look of disgust. 

Minho was sure he smelled bad. And though he’d kept up with shaving and washing his face via public restrooms, he was clearly still... he was probably a sickening sight.

It stung. But at least Minho had confirmation. The artist must’ve been sick to his stomach as Minho watched him perform. He probably felt humiliated to have someone so... Fuck. 

Minho left the lounge. And of course it was pouring again. And of course Minho hadn’t dressed properly. And of fucking course he didn’t have an umbrella. 

So he shakily walked through the cold rain and made his way back to his car. 

Despite the fries from the lounge he still felt so sick. Maybe he was sick. He didn’t know. 

Maybe the cold rain would kill him. Or maybe he was just so fucked in the heart that he’d have a heart attack or something. 

He didn’t mind dying again. Suddenly it felt fine. 

But tomorrow. Because today, he was collapsing into his back seat and sobbing into the musty clothes from the other day. 

* * *

No, the day betrayed him again. Minho heard knocking at his window, startling him upright. He felt shaky and numb. He could barely reach the lock of his car. Why was he even opening his door? He’d had enough run-ins with other homeless people, why would he— Maybe part of him hoped someone would kill him for his car. Maybe he’d get stabbed and bleed out on the ground while someone took his belongings. 

Would he get lucky? 

No. 

Minho took a deep breath as the sound of rain hit his ears, the sight of a man in a facemask holding a black umbrella watching him. 

He didn’t know who this was. And he couldn’t tell based on the haziness of his vision.

_Please just kill me._

His plea was ignored as the man dragged his facemask under his chin, watching Minho with the same glare that he should have recognized instantly. 

_Seo Changbin._

Minho was silent, watching the man who looked just as disgusted as he had in the lounge. 

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t expect that. But maybe Changbin’s scowl had been masking pity, which didn’t make him feel any better.

“I saw you the other day... today too.”

Minho just watched him, leaning back into the seat as he watched the man with solemn eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he lied. 

Changbin frowned, “do you live here?”

Perhaps hearing it aloud stung more than any of Minho’s self destructive thoughts. But Minho couldn’t even respond. He just nodded, curling his fingers into his shirt as he watched the man lean down to his level. 

“Why?”

Minho wasn’t an infant. And it wasn’t like Changbin’s tone had indicated that he was treating Minho that way, but he still felt pathetic. He felt sick and frustrated. And he really wished he’d had the courage to step into traffic the other day. 

“Do you need food or anything?” 

He didn’t want this. He was on the verge of breaking down. 

“Do you need a motel or anything? It’s really dangerous out here... and to be honest I was worried the other day, but after following you...” Minho watched the man slip his wallet from his pocket. 

He couldn’t do this. 

“I liked your song.” Minho whispered. 

Changbin arched his brow. 

Minho drew a deep breath, “it was really nice. The lyrics. I’m... im fine, really. I’m not like...” he couldn’t lie, but he also wasn’t sure what to say right now. He didn’t know how to get out of the situation. 

“How long have you been out here? Haven’t you heard about the robberies? Someone almost died the other night...”

Minho just watched him. How had he been so unlucky to miss a robbery attempt? Did he not have anything worth stealing? Worth killing for?

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.” Changbin interjected, “you were shaking yesterday too. You don’t look like you’ve been here too long, and you’re really young...”

“I’m okay—.”

“I’m Changbin.”

Minho drew a breath, “I know that.”

“What’s your name?”

Minho stared too long. 

“If you know who I am then you know I’m not going to hurt you. Can I please get you a motel or something? I can buy you a hot meal too... those lounge fries are trash.”

Why was he doing this? 

“I know you probably don’t trust me... but I’m just offering any help I can—.”

“Why?”

Why did Minho ask? 

Changbin looked at him, expression twisted into something else, “because I know your aura well.”

What did that mean?

“The second I saw you I should have done something... I’m just glad you’re still here.”

Minho’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t sure what Changbin was gathering from Minho’s pathetic state, but it was making him nauseous. 

“I don’t...”

“I was in a similar place. I don’t... I don’t want to overstep but I can see it in your eyes. And maybe I am wrong and I’m just assuming but... I just don’t want you to fall too far.”

Minho felt so tense and sick. Maybe that was from the rain he’d dealt with the previous night and walked through just hours ago. 

“I really... I can see you’re not _all gone._ I saw the hope in your eyes when I sang... I just really don’t feel comfortable leaving you out here like this.”

He didn’t know Minho. What was this man doing? 

“Please? I don’t... I really don’t want to leave and then hear about your death on the news.”

Minho released an audible whimper. He didn’t mean to, but his entire body was so tense he wished Changbin had been a robber instead. 

“I’m fine...” Minho lied once more. 

“I thought I was fine too.” Changbin winced, “please? At least let me buy you a motel and some food... I’ll leave you alone I just... it’s the least I can do.”

Minho wrapped his arms around himself with a heavy sigh, “I’m seriously...” he couldn’t continue, not with how defeated this musician looked. 

_Fuck._

“Okay, fine.”

* * *

Changbin took Minho for food first, which he regretted based on the looks he was receiving from other patrons. He must’ve smelled so bad. He must’ve looked even worse. 

It felt embarrassing. But the warm broth down his sore throat was too soothing to care. 

“When’s the last time you had a proper meal, Minho...?” Minho shouldn’t have told Changbin his name, right?

Minho twitched at the question, lowering the bowl to the table as he wiped his chin, “a month or so.”

“What have you been eating...?”

“Snacks. Vending machine things.” He admitted, folding into himself as a family walked past their booth. 

Changbin crossed his arms at the table, shooting a look behind Minho that must’ve been a warning to whoever was looking at their table. Minho didn’t mind the staring though. He honestly... he’d gotten so used to them. And he knew he’d stare the same if he was in their position. 

“No wonder you look so sick...”

Minho drew a breath, “I was fine until it started to get cold.” 

“It’s too cold to be in short sleeves in the rain like that... you’re going to get yourself—.” Changbin halted, folding his hands together as he watched Minho closely, “do you have any warmer clothes?”

Minho nodded slowly, “I have some jackets.”

“You really... you shouldn't stay where you are. Do you have a phone?”

Minho shook his head, “I let it go for cash.”

“Is there anyone I can call for you? I can look someone up online if you don’t know the number?”

Minho felt the tears welling in his eyes, but he really didn’t want to release them. 

“Minho?”

He shook his head again, “no. There isn’t anyone.”

“How old are you?” Changbin inquired. 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not a minor or anything... I just—.”

“There has to be someone...”

Minho winced, staring at the chipping pain on the old cafe table, “there isn’t...” he couldn’t hold it, “there’s nobody.” The sob that left his throat had him shaking. He didn’t want to falter. He didn’t want to feel so beaten down. But that was the truth. He didn’t have anyone. Nobody wanted to contact him anyways. He was alone. 

Changbin was silent for a few moments before handing Minho a napkin, “I’m so sorry...”

Minho shakily brought the napkin to his face, lighting dabbing his sore eyes. 

“Are you tired at all? I can get that hotel room for you...”

_Hotel?_

“Motel.” Minho corrected, taking a deep breath as he lay the napkin down, staring into his neatly devoured bowl. 

“Hotel... it’ll be comfier.” Changbin whispered back, placing a few bills on the table. 

Hotel. It felt too nice. 

“I can't accept a hotel room...”

Changbin frowned, “they have room service... it’s a nice hotel. I go there a lot when I’m in town.”

Minho’s stomach ached. 

“Really, I’d rather you have a good night's sleep and good food... I would do more but you already told me no.”

“This is too much... a motel is fine. I can figure out how to get food—.”

“I don’t want you to starve yourself...”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know how you’re feeling.”

“No. You don’t.” Minho snapped back, trying to ignore the glaring eyes around them. 

“I was the same. I wanted to end things. I wanted to just disappear. Please let me offer my help. I’ll... I’ll leave you be when I know you’re at least getting a day or two or comfort. I leave town in a few days anyways so... I’ll leave you alone.”

Minho sighed, “why are you doing this for me?”

“I just told you...”

“And when you leave?”

Changbin frowned, “I’ll be sad if I see any news about you... but I’ll be across the country.”

Minho felt so sick. 

“Fine. I’ll go with you.” 

“Thank you. I’ll call a ride service.” 

_Not even just a cab._

* * *

The hotel was nice. It wasn’t five star but it was nice enough. Minho was aware of the stares he was receiving as he stood beside Changbin. And he could feel his skin crawling with agony at their whispers. 

He followed this stranger into the elevator, keeping to one side as Changbin stood in the middle with his guitar case on his back, he was browsing his phone. He made no attempt to hide what he was doing. He was just on some social media page, liking pictures of exotic foods that made Minho’s stomach hurt. 

“What room? You said you called ahead, the lady at the desk gave you a card right? I can go on my own...”

“I don’t mind helping you get settled. I want to make sure you eat too.”

Minho took a deep breath, “you didn’t have to do this...”

“I did,” Changbin responded, exiting the elevator and ushering Minho to follow. 

This hotel was too nice. The room was even nicer. And within seconds Minho couldn’t help the dread that washed over him. 

This room was already _very_ occupied. 

“What is this?”

“My hotel room.” Changbin spoke, laying his guitar case against the wall as he pulled his jacket off. 

Minho was panicking internally. Why was he in this man’s room? 

“I’m not a—.” 

“It’s not like that...” Changbin winced, moving towards the fridge before handing Minho a bottle of water. 

“This is _your_ room...”

“The hotel was too booked. I wasn’t leaving you in a motel.”

“So then another hotel...” Minho took a deep breath, “what am I doing here?”

“There’s two beds...”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I didn’t bring you here for anything weird. I want you in warm clothes. And judging on the state of your car and how you’re dressed right now, everything you own isn’t suitable for the weather. Just let me... I just want to help in any way I can, okay?”

“You _are_ overstepping.”

“But _you’re_ still here.” Changbin snapped back, digging in a drawer before shoving a warm black sweater into Minho’s chest, “like I said, I’m very aware of how you’re feeling. I don’t know what exactly caused you to feel like this, but I’ve been there.”

Minho opened his mouth to interject before Changbin grabbed his own sleeve, rolling it up to expose a clear scar up his wrist. 

“You don’t want to go here. It’s not worth it. You’re clearly young, and you’ve clearly been through something horrible, but it’s not worth it. I’m serious.”

Minho turned away from the sight, body trembling. He didn’t expect _that._ Not at all. 

“Just by how terrified you look, I can already tell you don’t _actually_ want to die.”

“You don’t know me...” Minho’s heart was racing. 

Changbin drew a breath before heading towards his bathroom, emerging with a plush white towel, “I’ll get you pants and... if you’re comfortable with it, I have unworn underwear too. Still tagged.” 

Minho felt overwhelmed. 

“You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I want to. Please just... let me help.”

Minho didn’t bother fighting it anymore. He knew Changbin was a good person from word of mouth. Before hell broke for him, he’d only heard good things about him. Even Seungmin had mentioned how great he was. Seungmin had offered to take Minho to a show, but that had been after his mother and he just... he couldn’t. 

Would things be different if he’d gone to a show before? 

Minho felt awful about stepping into the shower. He felt sick to his stomach when the warm water smacked his skin. He hated seeing the water run with dirt. He would rather die than even look himself in the mirror after this. He really had been _this_ fucking disgusting. He’d wash his face and hair as often as he could in sinks but there was only so much he could do. The sight of just how fucking filthy he was... Fuck. 

He hadn’t even... it had been a while living in the car. But not long enough to make this amount of filth excusable. 

_Don’t cry._ He couldn’t. He didn’t want to break down. He couldn’t do that. Not here. Not for this. 

He showered in silence, turning the water up gradually. He wasn’t sure when he’d have a proper shower again. Thinking ahead wasn’t something he’d ever intended on doing anyways. He should have been dead already. But there he was, still alive. 

He felt so unbelievably clean as he dried off and put the new clothes on. Changbin’s sweatpants were a little tight, but he’d manage. He wouldn’t complain about hospitality. Not at all. 

Why did Changbin care so much? 

Minho took a deep breath as he finished drying his hair. And then he met the mirror. 

Despite the bags under his eyes, seeing himself stung. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen himself in the bathroom the other day. But there was just something very different about being freshly showered for the first time in—. 

_Don’t cry._

Minho exited the bathroom, taking a deep breath as he caught Changbin in the corner of his eyes. _Ah._ He wouldn’t judge. Changbin was a musician. Musicians were known for this, right? At least in movies they were. 

He’d ignore the line of coke that Changbin had snorted. Changbin had his back turned to Minho anyways. 

“Hi.” Minho announced after a moment of Changbin composing himself. He didn’t want Changbin to know that Minho had seen him snorting coke. 

Changbin jumped, turning to offer Minho a weak grin, “how was it?”

Minho shrugged, ignoring the residue of cocaine on the table as he crossed the room towards the window, “it was refreshing.”

“I uh...” Minho turned, Changbin opening his laptop up, “please don’t freak out. But I looked you up.”

Minho’s skin was crawling. 

“There are a lot of Minho’s in this area but... thanks to some tagged photos, I found you.”

“Why did you—.”

“I didn’t contact anyone. I just... I need to know that you aren’t alone, you know?”

“That’s none of your...” Minho paused, heart starting to race, “I don’t have anyone.”

“You haven’t logged in for a few months... but you seemed to have a lot of friends.”

“Why did you look at those?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“What does it matter to you?” Minho hugged himself tight, biting his lip as Changbin offered a sympathetic look. 

“Because I was in your position. My parents kicked me out when I was a teenager. I felt like I had nobody, and an unexpected person came and saved me. And now he’s my best friend and I couldn’t imagine a world without him.”

Minho rolled his eyes, “there’s no one, Changbin. Please stop looking.”

Changbin shut the laptop, “okay. I’ll stop.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Minho took a deep breath before settling on the bed across from Changbin. 

“I called a tow to bring your car here.”

“Why?”

“I was scared about that area. After hearing that woman almost died being mugged... I didn’t want that to happen to you.”

“What do you want from me, Changbin?”

Changbin frowned. 

“I don’t get it... I don’t know why you’re so persistent in helping me. You don’t know me.”

“I think you’ve all but admitted you’re trying to hurt yourself. I don’t want to let that happen. If I can stop it and help, I’m going to.”

“But this is...”

“I leave in a few days. I’d prefer it if you healed up. I can help you find somewhere to stay and—.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I just want to help you. You just...”

“Changbin... I can’t give you anything in return.”

“I never asked you to. Just get sleep and food. Just take these days to heal.”

“I could be the person robbing people for all you know.”

“Considering you could barely make it out of your car on your own earlier, I doubt that.”

Minho drew a breath, glancing to the bed, “what do you get out of helping a random man on the street?”

“I saw you at the lounge. You looked like you needed help.”

“I’m not the only—.”

“You’re really young. You’re only a year older than me.”

Minho had nearly forgotten that Changbin had seen his social media page, “that doesn’t matter.”

“You had a lot of friends.” Minho swallowed hard. “You were a teacher?”

He wanted to run away. 

“It’s not important.”

“Okay,” Changbin whispered back before sliding off of his bed, “I’m going downstairs for a bit. Your car should be here soon and I’ll have them drop it off somewhere in the lot, okay?”

Minho was so fucking tense, “okay.”

“You’re welcome to use my laptop.” 

The offer... Jesus. 

The offer was so tempting, and Minho just nodded in response before Changbin gave him a worried look, “please be here when I get back...”

“I’ll be here... I wouldn’t do anything.” He wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t. He didn’t have the guts. 

The second Changbin left, Minho couldn’t help but settle on Changbin’s bed, opening the laptop to where Changbin had left off. It was like an instant smack in the face to see his profile. Perhaps the _in a relationship_ part hurt the most. He was glad Changbin hadn’t mentioned that. God, he really never changed that? 

There wasn’t too much he could see on this page. It was old anyways. Nobody really used this website anymore despite the friend count... 

Minho inhaled sharply before moving the cursor to the search bar, typing up the familiar website he used way more in the past. 

The flood of photos had Minho taking deep breaths. Suddenly he felt hot and panicked. He hadn’t deleted the photos. He hadn’t been online anywhere since he lost his job. He’d been too embarrassed. Which meant all the photos were still here. Photos of him. Photos of Seungmin. 

Minho bit into his lip hard, tears swelling in his eyes as he scrolled the cursor to the login button. Part of him didn’t want to login. But part of him _had to._

So he did. Minho closed his eyes tight for a moment before logging in. And as the page loaded and his eyes met his inbox, he couldn’t help but crash. 

There were a lot of notifications. Lots of messages he didn’t want to read. He didn’t want any of this. The fake concern. The spam. The angry friends and... Seungmin. He didn’t want to look. 

He didn’t look. Minho deactivated the account, shoving the laptop away as he managed his way to the other bed, laying on the warm sheets. 

He suddenly felt miserable. Absolutely miserable. He promised Changbin he wouldn’t die, but by the way his heart was beating in his chest, he may have died anyways. 

Minho wanted to, badly. But sleep took him first. 

* * *

Minho hadn’t realized that time had moved. He woke up to a dark room, silence in his ears as he pulled himself up from the comfort of the bed. He hadn’t slept properly in so long. It must’ve been the middle of the night. Upon further scanning of the dark room, Minho could see Changbin laying on his side under his own covers, fast asleep. 

Suddenly Minho felt nauseous again. And he didn’t know why he was here. Food and sleep wouldn’t make him feel any better. Minho wasn’t sure what Changbin expected out of him, but he was hurt. He was hurting all over and all at once. Minho couldn’t describe the feeling. He just wasn’t sure why Changbin was doing anything for him. 

Minho pulled himself out of the bed, eyeing the laptop that was settled on the nightstand. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He opened the laptop back up and reactivated his account. This was stupid of him, very careless too, but he couldn’t stop. He _needed_ to see. 

Messages from people he went to school with, a few from people he’d once called friends, and then somewhere in the middle was the one he desired the most. 

He opened the message, eyes tearing up again at the long list of words Seungmin had written him. Minho’s stomach was tense. He felt tense. He felt sick. As he struggled to read he only felt more and more ready to die. 

He shouldn’t have clicked on Seungmin’s account, but he did anyway. 

_Oh._

Nothing Minho had scanned in Seungmin’s messages were real. The longing. The apologies. They were all empty the second he saw the freckled man and the pretty dog between them. The most recent photo. 

Minho choked back a sob as he scrolled Seungmin’s page, body trembling as the freckled man appeared more often than not. 

They were _together._ Not only had Seungmin cheated on Minho with his neighbor to hurt him, but he was now _in a relationship_ with this guy. It was apparent. Seungmin really—

Minho’s heart raced. He shouldn’t have looked. If he needed anymore reason to kill himself, there it fucking was in the form of his ex boyfriend kissing the man he caught in his own bed that horrible fucking day. 

He couldn’t help it. His heart was cracking along with his grasp on his sanity. Minho wanted to die. He wanted to die so badly and he hated that he didn’t know how to. He just wanted to disappear. 

Why would he do this to him? 

“Minho?”

He forgot about Changbin. Minho turned, tears streaming down his face as he caught Changbin’s gaze. He looked concerned despite the room being so dark. 

“Minho, are you okay?” Changbin stirred, pulling himself up. 

_No._ No he wasn’t. 

Minho’s eyes met the screen one more time before he rose from the bed and closed the laptop, inching his way to the bed where the younger man sat. 

“Minho, what did you see?”

Minho took a deep breath before crawling over Changbin, the younger man’s eyes widening at the suddenness before Minho connected their mouths together. 

This may have been a bad idea, but Minho was distraught. He felt like everything had finally crashed 

“Min—.”

Minho kissed him harder, rolling his hips against the younger man’s. He knew this was wrong, but he was too far gone. He needed warmth. Any warmth. 

Changbin pushed Minho back, causing Minho to shudder in panic. 

“What are you doing?”

_Shit._

“I need... I’m sorry I just don’t—.”

Changbin sighed, rubbing his hands up Minho’s arms, “what happened?”

“Can I please...”

“Minho?”

“Repayment.”

The words felt like acid. Minho had done this a couple of times since he’d been in the street. He wasn’t a prostitute. He didn’t want to be. But he’d really fallen low and he just _really_ craved self destruction. 

Right now was one of those times. 

Minho’s hands lingered under Changbin’s shirt, his body shaking before Changbin halted him, grabbing both of Minho’s wrists. 

“What are you doing?”

“Do you want me to stop? I don’t...”

He was shaking. 

“Minho, you don’t have to repay me. For anything. You don’t _have_ to do this.”

But he _wanted_ to. 

“Should I stop?” 

Changbin watched him closely, “Minho...”

“If you want to... can we? Unless you don’t trust me—.”

Changbin grabbed a fistful of Minho’s hair, their lips crashing together and Minho practically melting into the younger man. 

Before Minho knew it he was on his back, Changbin’s hands running up his stomach as their tongues twisted together, moans tossed from mouth to mouth as Changbin rolled his hips into Minho’s. 

It felt so good. And it was what Minho needed right now. 

Kisses turned into whimpers as one of Changbin’s hands made its way down the back of Minho’s pants, squeezing the plush of his ass before treading dangerously close to his hole. 

“How do you usually—.”

Minho cut him off with his mouth, his own hands starting to tug down Changbin’s sweatpants and feel for his cock. 

“I want you to fuck me...”

Changbin seemed to oblige, pulling away only to open the drawer by his bed, seeming to struggle before pulling out what Minho assumed was lube and a condom. 

“I don’t have anything by the way... I swear.” Not that he’d tested for anything in months. But he also hadn’t really slept with anyone in months, maybe he should have been more sure. 

Changbin took a deep breath, “I don’t either.”

Minho shuddered as Changbin turned the side table light on. He’d feel more self conscious if he hadn’t showered. He had no reason to panic at all. 

Changbin dragged the sweatpants and underwear from Minho’s legs, the sound of a light thud at the ground before Changbin’s lips graced his own again as coated fingers circled his rim. 

Minho pulled Changbin on top of him, locking their lips together, kisses messy as Minho slipped his hand around Changbin’s cock, shivers running down his spine. 

Changbin’s fingers were longer and thicker than Minho’s, he was clutching the back of Changbin’s shirt and throwing his head back into the sheets as Changbin pressed a finger inside of him. He was spinning already, body shaky and tense as Changbin pumped his finger slowly. 

But Minho didn’t want _slow_. 

“Please be rough...” he whispered as Changbin moved his lips down to Minho’s jaw and neck, causing Minho to moan out. 

“Rough?” Changbin murmured against Minho’s skin, dragging his teeth along as he sucked at different parts of Minho’s neck. 

There was no doubt that Changbin was attracted to him. 

“Hard... just fuck me.”

Changbin inserted another finger, keeping his movement steady as he decorated Minho’s neck, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want you to...”

Changbin inched upright, eyes half lidded and focused on Minho’s, “Minho, you don’t mean—.”

“I want to feel something else... Please?”

The expression Minho received was all but pleased. He looked worried, extremely worried. But Minho couldn’t deal with that right now. 

“If you can’t... tell me.” Minho sounded so pathetic, “I just really want to forget about...”

“Forget what?” Changbin was sweet, a hand reaching Minho’s face as the other stilled fingers inside of him. 

“I’ll tell you later... I just need to forget right now.”

Changbin watched him closely before ramming his fingers up into Minho, causing him to release a strained cry as he arched his back. 

“More...” Minho whined, desperately trying to pump Changbin’s cock in his hand as Changbin scissored his fingers more meticulously. 

And Changbin delivered, bringing one hand around Minho’s cock as he curled his fingers inside of him, dizzying Minho entirely. Minho was losing track of time and focus. And he needed Changbin to fuck him. He needed it so badly. 

“Changbin... please.”

Changbin drew a breath, giving Minho a worried glance before pulling his fingers out, “are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure...”

Minho moved himself down the bed, either of his legs around Changbin as the younger man took the condom from its wrapper, sliding it down his length carefully. 

“Minho...”

“Can you be rough?”

Changbin sucked in a breath between his teeth, eyes scanning Minho in worry, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I really... I really want you to. I’ll be fine, please.”

The younger must have given up, he slipped himself more comfortably between Minho before guiding his cock, pressing against the muscle carefully. 

When was the last time Minho had slept with someone? He didn’t know. He just knew his stomach was in knots. He wanted the feeling in his heart to disappear. He wanted it to alter into something else. Something that wasn’t _this._

And Changbin was _delivering_ . Because it fucking stung. Minho took deep breaths as Changbin bottomed out inside of him. Changbin wasn’t that _long_ , but he was _thick,_ and Minho could feel his muscles struggling to adjust. 

He couldn’t even relax himself properly, he was so fucking _tense_. 

“Minho...”

Minho looked at the man who had worry all over his face, “do you want to fuck me, Changbin?” He asked in the softest way possible, eyes half lidded as he fought the painful stretching feeling. 

“Do you?” He asked as Changbin stayed silent for far too long, “I don’t want to force you... I don’t.”

“You’re not.”

“Then _fuck_ me. I’ll be fine.” Minho took a final deep breath as he prepared himself, clutching his hand into the sheet beside him as Changbin ran one hand up Minho’s thigh, the other venturing to wrap around Minho’s cock. 

Changbin was looking at him too hard. He needed to fix that. Changbin was watching Minho’s twisted expression too clearly. 

So he grabbed Changbin by his collar, forcing him down to smash their mouths back together, sliding a leg around Changbin’s waist. And _fucking_ finally, Changbin moved. His thrusts were deep, _precise._ Minho wanted the younger man to just let go already. 

“More,” Minho whispered against their kiss before Changbin’s hand made its way up to Minho’s neck, deepening their kiss as before moving more enthusiastically. 

Minho gasped against Changbin’s lips, hand in the sheets draping around Changbin’s neck. 

It _hurt_ , but he _needed_ it. He so badly wanted to _feel_ something else. 

Changbin deepened his thrusts, keeping his hand around Minho’s neck, only giving slight presses as Minho started to whimper through their kisses. But that’s exactly what he needed right now.

“Changbin—.” Minho’s voice cracked as his stomach knotted up, body hot as he threatened to release. He couldn’t hold it. Changbin was smacking into his prostate and tearing his insides apart. Minho couldn’t manage. 

“Stop?” Changbin asked, slowing his thrusts temporarily. 

“Harder.” Minho shivered, knowing he had tears running down his cheeks. They stung. They were hot. But he couldn’t let Changbin see that. Not right now. 

Changbin obliged again, thrusts so deep that Minho was clinging tightly to the musician, keeping his mouth to Changbin’s to prevent the urge to scream. 

_More._ He wanted to _replace_ this horrible feeling of betrayal. He’d take all the physical pain in the world over the feeling of heartbreak. 

His orgasm was relieving, causing Minho to arch his back and cry out in small choked sections as Changbin slowed his movements, pumping Minho through his release. 

Changbin pulled out of him soon after to Minho’s surprise. 

“Y-you didn’t—.”

“You’re crying...”

Minho pulled himself up slowly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as pain rang through his back. 

“Lay back.”

“Minho.”

“I’ll finish it—.”

Changbin grabbed Minho’s wrist as he struggled to move himself forward, pressing his hand against Changbin’s chest. 

“You don’t have to... are you okay?” Changbin dabbed at Minho’s face with the bottom of his shirt, bringing his other hand to caress fingers through the back of Minho’s head. 

“I’m fine... I want to.” Minho shuddered, “can I?”

“Did I hurt you?”

Minho drew a breath, “Changbin, I wanted you to. Can I please help you finish?”

Changbin watched him closely before leaning back, sliding the condom from his length as Minho shakily crawled over him, taking just moments to examine Changbin’s expression before taking his cock into his mouth. 

He tasted nice enough. Minho figured Changbin ate really well considering how much money he had from touring. And... he must have been well off enough to be using cocaine. But Minho wouldn’t question that. And it wasn’t his place anyways. 

“Minho...” Changbin was moaning, hand in Minho’s hair, scratching softly against his scalp.

Changbin was too kind. He was so... Minho wasn’t sure what was wrong with this man. He didn’t know what Changbin wanted to do with him at all. He’d seen the scar down Changbin’s wrist. He wanted to badly understand why he had been so special. And how Changbin was even so sure that Minho was going to hurt himself anyways. 

He didn’t understand. 

“Minho!” Changbin was moaning, chest rising and falling quickly as his fingers threaded through Minho’s hair, “I’m...”

Minho bobbed his head, focusing to the best of his ability on Changbin despite his mind running wild. He wanted to stop thinking. And not even Changbin’s seed shooting down his throat had eased his mind. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry—.”

Minho glanced up to Changbin as he continued to move his mouth around Changbin’s cock, swallowing what he could before letting the man pull himself out. 

He couldn’t stop thinking. He was _still_ thinking. 

Changbin was breathing hard, pretty noises leaving his mouth as he forced himself upright, crawling back down into the pillows and helping Minho adjust back into the bed. 

His body was tense. And everything stung. Somehow he still couldn’t get Seungmin out of his head. He thought this would help. But it hadn’t. And Minho felt like shit because of it. 

“Are you okay, Minho?” Changbin asked soothingly, brushing hair from Minho’s eyes, “do you want me to help you get to the tub? We should clean you up and—.”

“No.” Minho’s voice cracked, and maybe so did the rest of him as he curled into the stranger, tears flooding his eyes again. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was crying. Was it the physical pain in his back, or the emotional turmoil inside of his chest? He didn’t know. He just knew he was crashing. He clung to Changbin like glue, burying his face into the warmth of the musicians chest. He didn’t understand what he was doing. He didn’t. 

He just wanted to die. He _still_ wanted to die. 

“Minho you need to—.”

“I just want to sleep.”

“I’m not kidding, you need to get cleaned up and...”

“Please don’t make me move. You’re not a bad person for leaving me alone, please just let me sleep...”

Minho felt horrible. 

* * *


	2. 2

* * *

Minho should have cleaned himself up. Maybe a bath would have been preferable over this stickiness laced with intense pain running down his spine. 

He whimpered at the slightest movement, getting a soothing hand to his back as he folded into himself. 

“Minho... I’m so sorry.”

So Changbin was real. 

“I shouldn’t have... fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Minho drew a breath, eyes meeting Changbin’s own that had become full of concern and worry, “it’s not your fault—.”

“I shouldn’t have been so rough. I shouldn’t have done it at all.”

That  _ hurt.  _

“Did you not want to sleep with me?” Minho asked worriedly. 

“What..? No it’s not...” Changbin kept running his hand along Minho’s back, biting into his lip worriedly, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I’m fine... it just hurts.”

“Can I please help you wash up?”

Minho nodded, struggling to pull himself upright. He felt horrible. If it wasn’t the physical pain in his body it was the way his heart had torn in two. 

The water felt nice. And perhaps Minho should have bathed after last night, but he was stubborn. Stubborn and madly depressed. 

“What happened last night?” Changbin asked as he ran a rag along Minho’s shoulders, warmth causing him to sigh out in peace. 

“I went online.”

“Did you contact anyone?”

Minho shook his head, “no. I didn’t.”

“Why did you want to sleep with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Minho choked back his words in embarrassment, “I’m not... I just wanted to.”

“You said repayment... you don’t owe me anything, Minho.”

Minho sucked in air through his teeth as Changbin leaned Minho back in the tub, “I know.”

Changbin swallowed hard, “you were upset. What did you see?”

“Why are you doing any of this? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want you to die—.”

“You don’t know me, Changbin...”

“I told you... I know the look you gave. I’ve been through—.”

“My ex cheated on me.”

Changbin frowned at that. 

_ Fuck it.  _

“My mom died last year. We were really close so her death just took a really bad toll on me.” Changbin listened, watching Minho close, “I lost my job because I couldn’t focus. I snapped at... I was a teacher for really young kids...” Changbin nodded, “I just got so mad at this kid and I yelled at her... really bad. I deserved to get fired but things just kept getting worse.”

Minho’s stomach knotted, “I had a cat. And a boyfriend. They were... they helped. But then my cat died. And then...”

“Your boyfriend...”

“He was tired of me sitting in the house all day. He said I was pathetic and that I needed to  _ get over  _ things. He wanted me to get a job and stop sulking around my apartment... we didn’t even live together.”

Changbin was still listening, face sullen. 

Minho took a shaky breath, “I came home one day after getting groceries. I didn’t know  _ Seungmin _ had come by but his jacket was there... I went to my bedroom to see if he was asleep.”

Changbin sighed, rubbing the rag against Minho’s arm carefully. 

“I went in and... he was with someone else.”

“I’m so sorry...”

“He was fucking the guy from next door. In  _ my  _ bed. And when he saw me... he fucking  _ smiled  _ about it. He broke up with me within the hour after I tried to talk to him about it.”

Changbin put the rag down, “Minho...”

“I went online and read his messages to me. He’d been wondering where I was. How I was doing... And for a second, I thought he was being genuine, and that he might  _ actually _ miss me.” Minho twisted his face in memory, biting his lip hard, “he's dating that guy now. They’re together.”

It was silent, and Minho sat himself up slightly, shaking at the painful sensation as tears started to fill his eyes again, “part of me feels like he never cared about me. That all the time we were together... that it just meant nothing. He went to my mothers funeral with me... he said he’d be there for me and he just... I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why he did that to me.”

Minho felt like he was faltering. He forced himself upright, pain shooting through his back as he hugged his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. 

“I tried to kill myself. The day I saw you perform.”

Changbin was quiet. 

“I wanted to just walk into traffic. End it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move so I just... I wandered until I found this lounge that was close enough to my car... I wanted to drink myself to death but you were performing and, I don’t know. I don’t know what happened but your song was so?” He paused, eyes falling to the bath water, “I don’t know.”

Changbin shifted, Minho watched as he pulled his clothes from his body. This time he had removed his shirt, small scars running up his hips and above where the sleeves of his shirt covered. Like he had hid them last night. 

Minho studied the man in silence as Changbin crawled into the tub in front of him, getting into a similar position as Minho as his eyes watched Minho’s own, “I’m glad that song kept you here.”

“It felt real...” Minho whispered, eyes glued to the man’s own before slipping down his shoulders, “really real. Like it was for me... like you were singing something personal to me.” 

Changbin tilted his head, “I could play it for you later. I have a performance tonight but... I could play it for you again?”

Minho drew a breath, “the song?”

“Yeah. If you’d like.” 

Minho would like that. He’s like that a lot actually. It wouldn’t erase anything happening to him, but maybe it would help a little. Besides he wasn’t uncomfortable in this stranger's hotel. He wasn’t uncomfortable with Changbin. He felt safe.  _ Secure.  _ He didn’t know much about him, but what he did know was that Changbin in some way  _ did  _ understand what he was feeling to some degree. 

“Is it too much to ask for a shower now? The water is kinda gross...” Minho admitted after a while, attempting to pull himself from his position. 

“Yeah sure...” Changbin drained the tub, helping Minho stand the best he could, Minho clinging to him for stability as warm water sprayed against his hair. “Do you want to turn around? The water might be nicer on your back.” The younger man offered, cautiously shifting their positions. 

And he was right. The spray against his back felt incredible. The bath had been soothing, but the hot water felt... it was too good to pass up. Every inch of him felt appeased.  _ He _ felt appeased. 

* * *

Minho’s body was still sore, but the shower and warm clothes Changbin had given him felt really nice. And his bed felt warmer than the one Minho had attempted to sleep in the night before. A different kind of warmth. 

And there was something incredibly soothing about laying back against pillows as Changbin strummed his fingers along his guitar, the song from the other day filling Minho’s ears. 

He loved the song. He loved Changbin’s lyrics. He loved everything about how he felt. It was almost as if that moment in time had completely dismantled every bad thing that had happened to him. 

And he knew that once the song stopped he’d have to face reality again, but for now he felt some sort of peace. 

“Changbin,” Minho whispered as the song ended and the guitar lay against Changbin’s stomach. 

“Yeah?” The younger man asked. 

“What happened to you?”

“A few things. Kinda like a few bad things happened to you.”

“How’d you get over them?”

Changbin lay the guitar on the end of the bed, settling back beside Minho at the bed, “music.”

_ Music.  _

“Would you tell me the specifics—.”

Minho heard the door, eyes panicked as he met the eyes of someone he didn’t recognize or know in the slightest.

“Changbin, did you forget about lunch today with the other performers tonight? I swear you’re so careless.” The brunette snorted as he entered the room, paying Minho no mind as he plopped himself into the chair in the corner of the room. 

Minho tensed as Changbin shifted slightly, “you don’t know how to knock?” Changbin sighed as he pulled himself up, running a hand through his hair as he pulled his guitar up from the bed, “tell them I’ll see them tonight, Chan. I got busy.”

The man, Chan, sat up, eyes scanning Minho a moment before offering a wink and a smirk that had Minho flushing. 

“I can see that.” 

Changbin sighed, placing his guitar into its case as he crossed his arms. “Is there any other reason you’re here?”

Minho glanced to the man again, his gaze still lingered on Minho, “I just came by to mention lunch. And I wanted to know if you were up for a li—.”

“Not right now.” Changbin interrupted quickly, shooting Chan a look that Minho had caught. 

_ A line?  _

“Ah, shit okay. I’ll leave you then. Call me before the show tonight, okay?” Chan pulled himself up from the bed, giving Minho a small nod before giving Changbin a worried look as he exited the hotel room. 

And maybe Minho shouldn’t ask. 

“A friend?”

Changbin turned back to the bed with a huff, “yeah. He’s the best friend I mentioned earlier. He’s uh... he lives here and does very different things than me.”

“Very different?”

“He’s an artist.” Changbin sat back on the bed, watching Minho closely, “he helps me with my music sometimes. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s kind of struggling with his art, so I come by and help hype him the best I can. And he helps me.”

_ Interesting.  _

“He didn’t ask who I was at all.”

Changbin sighed, “he would have but I gave him my classic death glare.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t really know what to say to him without airing your personal stuff... and he’s not someone who takes anything seriously.”

Minho sighed, “is he going to think I’m a hook—.”

“No. I don’t do that kind of thing at all. He’ll corner me later and ask. I’ll just say you’re a friend... he’s a cool guy but he wouldn’t take what happened to you seriously at all.”

“Did he take what happened to you seriously?”

Changbin swallowed hard, “no. He didn’t.”

“Is he really that good a friend?” Minho asked as Changbin watched him closely, “what happened to you?”

“I’ve known him for more than half my life. He’s dismissive but he’s always been there... he’s just not much mental help at all.” Changbin dodged Minho’s question. 

Maybe it was quiet for too long. 

“Is what happened too personal for me to ask about?”

Changbin bit his lip, “no, I should tell you.”

“You don’t want to?”

“It’s... what happened with me is very different from what happened to you.”

“I won’t judge you, Changbin...”

“You barely know me.”

“Same.” Minho whispered flatly. 

Changbin crawled into the covers, tearing them back so Minho could join him as he made himself comfortable. 

Minho followed, sliding under the sheets and watching Changbin closely. He wouldn’t judge him. Changbin  _ had  _ tried to kill himself, and based on the scar up his wrist, he’d probably gotten a lot closer than Minho had. Minho knew that the way Changbin had cut was... very dangerous. 

“What happened to you... I don’t think that’s your fault. Your mom passed away and then everything started to fall like dominos.” Changbin’s voice was soft, “for me, everything was pretty bad and because of things I did... they just got better with time.”

_ Better? _

“I fucked up really bad. And someone...” Changbin drew a breath, “I guess I should just tell you before you catch me doing it.”  _ Cocaine?  _ “I take drugs. Lots of drugs.” Minho nodded slowly, “mostly  _ cocaine.” _ Minho had seen that, “I started using it because my life was pretty bad at the time.”

Minho hadn’t ever used drugs. Maybe because he had been a teacher. 

“Chan works with a lot of weird people and they do a lot of weird things. So he offered me some after dragging me to one of his weirdo underground art parties. It wasn’t bad, so I just kept taking more and more.”

Changbin bit his lip, “eventually Chan helped me boost my music by introducing me to some... interesting people. Somehow they liked me enough and now im kinda... here.”

Minho was trying to find the  _ bad _ . 

“I don’t really pick up people for sex. Because when I did there was a huge consequence.”

Minho lay his hand under his head, eyes glued to Changbin. 

“I took someone home with me after a show. We were both really drunk and they told me that they had never done any kind of drugs... and I probably should have taken that differently. But I offered them some, a lot. So much actually that they passed out.”

Changbin looked nauseous, “I was too wasted to do anything to help so I just... kept going. They were unconscious and I was just snorting lines.”

_ Oh.  _

“I fell asleep and woke up next to a body.”

“You couldn’t have known—.”

“Chan helped cover my ass.”

Minho frowned, watching the musician faltering in his spot. 

“I wanted to say something but Chan said it would ruin me. And he was right... I would have been charged with what happened to them and... it really would have destroyed my career.”

“I couldn’t handle the guilt after a few weeks. I started to hurt myself because of it. Nothing major just...” Changbin patted his shoulder with his hand, “Places people wouldn’t notice. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Minho frowned. 

“It got too much for me. I panicked a couple weeks later and took a blade to my wrist.”

Everytime Minho saw the scar he shuddered. As Changbin held his wrist up, Minho couldn’t help his nausea. 

“Chan found me in time. I didn’t really want to be found but... he saved me. He might not take many things seriously, but he  _ does  _ have my best interest at heart. Which sounds fucked considering he helped cover someone else's overdose so I wouldn’t get charged.”

“I’m so sorr—.”

“I’m not a great person, Minho. I’m not even a good one.” Changbin sighed, “I started to perform... more solemn music after what happened. If not to help myself, to help others. People like that music but they’re usually... I’ve never seen anyone so entranced like you were. And I could see that you wanted to give up. I just didn’t... I don’t know. It’s probably really dumb but I just didn’t want anyone to feel what I had. And... not to fuck up anymore than I already have but... I thought you were really pretty to look at too. Maybe part of me wanted to help more because of that. Maybe that’s fucked up.”

“It’s not...”

“I never intended on sleeping with you, Minho. That wasn’t my goal at all.... I just wanted to help you in any way I could.”

Minho watched the man closely, “sleeping with me... it helped me in the moment, I promise. And I’m sorry for what happened to you... maybe I’m messed up too but, you didn’t force them to do anything, right?”

Changbin shook his head, eyes full of truth. 

“I think... you’re doing all you can to correct what happened. You’re doing your best.”

“I just don’t want anyone else to... If I can stop someone from ending their life, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“How many times have you done this?”

“I helped a girl that was hooked on drugs awhile ago. I met her at Chan’s party and she was almost as decorated as me.” 

It took Minho a moment to understand that ‘ _ decorated’ _ was referring to the scars on Changbin’s skin. 

“She’s better now. I think last I heard she was in school.”

“Is it like... projects?”

“That sounds terrible,” Changbin laughed, “I just want to help.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No.”

“I guess I initiated that anyways...”

“Sleeping with you... it was nice.” Changbin was lying, in some way. 

“It wasn’t that great, I know.”

“I just felt bad. You were obviously really upset about what you’d seen and it was just... you wanted it to hurt, right?”

Minho nodded. 

“I’m sorry I did that—.”

“I asked you to. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I think if you’d been gentle I would have left the hotel room last night.”

Changbin reached for Minho’s face, resting his fingertips against his cheek, “I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

Minho watched him closely, “you’re a good person.”

Changbin took a deep breath, “I’m really not—.”

“You care. You’re so caring. You’re good, I promise.”

Changbin had the slightest pull at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Minho.”

They were silent for a while before Changbin parted his lips to speak, “My ticketed show is tonight, I want you to come.”

“I didn’t buy a ticket.”

“Special guest.” Changbin whispered back, eyes glued to Minho, “if you’d like to, I mean. There’s always an after party, and I always hate them but... would you like to join me?”

“We just met?” Minho laughed, watching Changbin expectantly. 

Changbin nodded, “yeah but... I really enjoy your company. Plus I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It wouldn’t.”

“Forgive me for not believing you... will you come?”

Minho took a deep breath, “okay. Yeah, I can.”

* * *

_ Changbin _ . 

Minho had fallen asleep while Changbin practiced. The array of songs he would later perform had lulled Minho, and waking up to see the man on the bed stuffing his cheeks full of food was oddly endearing. Minho could watch him forever. 

He wasn’t sure what had drawn him to Changbin, or what had drawn Changbin to him, but it was nice. He really liked this time together— even if they had just met. 

“Hey you, there’s some fresh clothes on the chair over there,” Changbin spoke as he noticed Minho watching him, taking a napkin to his mouth, “I hope I got the sizing right.”

_ Sizing? _

“Did you buy me clothes?” Minho asked as he pulled himself up from the comfort of the pillow, eyes fixated on Changbin. 

“Food too. I requested it to be brought up when you woke up. It’s from the restaurant across the street so it should only take a few minutes,” the man chimed as he tapped at his phone. 

Minho shifted, glad his back wasn’t  _ as  _ sore as it has been the previous day. 

“You bought me food and clothes?”

Changbin nodded, “is that okay? I noticed me and you aren’t really the same size at all...”

Minho smiled, “you’re sweet.”

Changbin had a soft smile spread across his lips, “it’s the least I could do. I want you to be comfortable tonight. And... I think you deserved some new clothes.”

“You’re letting me keep them?”

“Of course.”

Minho crossed the room, examining the rather large black bag quietly before taking out its contents. 

He  _ really _ didn’t deserve this. 

A long-sleeve red silk shirt, so smooth in his hands that he felt like he was going to damage the article of clothing just by looking at it. The buttons were dark and had little etchings that Minho couldn’t make out. And the shirt looked far too exquisite for him. 

Minho took a breath as he reached for the other items, fresh underwear—again too expensive, a pair of black socks that—were very soft and more than likely a fortune, a nice pair of black pants that were also somehow soft to the touch and—.

“Changbin I can’t...” Minho whispered as he pulled out the shoe box that rested at the bottom of the bag. 

“You needed new shoes. They’ll go nice with your outfit, and honestly you can wear them at any time. They’re pretty casual considering.”

_ Casual.  _

Minho opened the box, black laced boots, so pretty looking that Minho was going to cry. No, he wouldn’t cry because of the shoes. He’d cry at the small box that lay wedged between the boots. 

“What is this...?” Minho felt like he would melt in place. This was already too nice for him. He’d never owned anything for beautiful. And he couldn't bare opening the small box. 

“You have a beautiful neck,” Changbin complimented as he appeared behind Minho, reaching around him to take the box into his hands, “I didn’t mean to go overboard but... I saw this and it suited you really well.”

Minho closed his eyes tight, falling back against the shorter man with a heavy sigh, one of his hands reaching up to his temple in distress, “Changbin...”

“Don’t cry!” Changbin pouted, taking the silver and black beaded necklace from its place, sliding the necklace around Minho’s throat. 

_ He was crying, wasn’t he?  _ He didn’t mean to. But it was overwhelming. This was too kind. Changbin was too kind. 

“I don’t... you know I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?”

Minho turned once Changbin clasped the necklace, the man’s arms locking around his waist loosely, “I’m... it’s too nice for me. How am I supposed to keep clothes like this when I live—.”

“When you live where?”

Minho bit his bottom lip in shame. There was no way he could accept any of this. He’d definitely get robbed with these things lying around. 

“I can’t—.”

“Where do you live?”

Minho took a deep breath, “in my fucking car, why are you—.”

“No you don’t.”

Minho blinked his tears away only to produce more, watching Changbin with quivering lips and shaky pupils, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m not letting you go back to the street, Minho. Anywhere you want to go I’ll help you get there.”

“What the fuck are you—.”

“I’m serious. I’ll help you. You know who I am, so you know I’m not lying.”

_ Fuck.  _

“But you...”

“I want to help you get on your feet in any way I can. I don’t want you to go back to the streets... and I know we just met, I know that, but I can’t leave here knowing that you’re not safe...”

_ Leaving.  _ Minho forgot he was going to leave soon. 

“I can’t accept this.”

“Please?” Changbin brought Minho close, eyes staring into Minho’s own before the man brought a hand to Minho’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. 

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t...” 

“Yes, you do. You do deserve it. You haven’t done anything wrong and you’ve been dealing with so much anguish...”

Minho hit his lip again, “I don’t know what to say... to any of this.”

Changbin smiled softly, caressing Minho’s cheek carefully, “you don’t have to say anything. Or do anything—and if you change your mind that’s okay too.”

“I’m not. I won’t change my mind.” Minho whispered as Changbin led him back to the bed, settling down besides him as he wiped at his eyes, “I would love to join you tonight...”

He felt safe.  _ Secure _ . Changbin was an amazing security, keeping him safe and structured. Even if this was temporary, even if nothing would flourish, he felt safe right now. And that’s all that mattered to him.   


* * *

As expected, the show had gone well. The club they were in was more extravagant than the lounge he’d met Changbin in. 

Despite feeling completely out of place, he didn’t look it. Changbin had given Minho some moisturizer and helped fix his hair enough to make him look presentable. And Minho couldn’t deny that he looked  _ really _ good. A shower and fresh clothes had... along with the natural glow from what they’d done the other night, made him look human again. 

He felt nice. And though the club was busy, Minho had felt awfully comfortable the entire night. 

Changbin performed songs he’d never heard before, mixed in with the ones he’s managed to catch at the lounge. And deep into the night Changbin said he would perform  _ that  _ special song. And maybe something about hearing it after knowing Changbin’s story would hit a little harder. 

Changbin had been through hell, a guilty hell. He was a lot like Minho while also extremely different. Changbin was... Minho wasn’t sure. Though Changbin had hit rock bottom, he’d somehow boosted himself up. Minho wasn’t sure how he’d been able to crawl out of his hole.

Changbin  _ was  _ helping to distract Minho’s mind from its dark thoughts at the very least. Along with the soothing atmosphere of the club. 

“He’s great, isn’t he?”

Minho peeled his eyes from Changbin, catching Chan in view with a drink in hand beside him. 

“One day he’s really going to make it. This is just the beginning.” 

“He’s amazing.”

“How’d you two meet?”

Minho drew a deep breath, “he didn’t mention anything?”

“He told me to leave you alone.”

Minho wasn’t sure what that meant. 

“Which means he likes you I guess. He said he’d just met you but... he seems oddly interested in you, Minho.”

Minho wrapped his arms around himself, “he’s really nice. I like him too.”

“I don’t know what’s up with you, but just don’t hurt him. He gets really attached.”

“We just met—.”

“And he’s buying you clothes and taking care of you.”

Minho didn’t appreciate that at all. 

“I didn’t ask him to do any of that.” Minho snapped, “I don’t know what you’re trying to say about me but—.”

“I’m not saying anything about you. I’m just saying my friend falls deeply and quickly. So don’t hurt him or I’ll make sure you’re back on the street.”  _ So Chan knew Minho was homeless? _

Minho winced, but he couldn’t  _ blame  _ Chan. He was just protecting his friend. Minho knew that. 

“He’s really sweet... I like him.”

“Ah.” Chan offered Minho his drink, “I brought this over for you. If you  _ do  _ actually like him, please don’t hurt him by getting too close. It took me a long time to get him out of his really bad place.”

Minho nodded slowly, taking the drink in hand and staring at the contents, “he told me.”

“How much?”

Minho heard a new song, tearing his eyes from the glass to look at Changbin on the stage, “everything.”

“So he told you about the coke?”

“Yeah... I saw him do a line but he didn’t see me the first time. He told me about things after. Everything.”

“Did he tell you he’s currently using?”

Minho shifted running his fingers to the necklace at his collar, “not explicitly.”

Chan sighed beside him, “he’s still struggling. He wants to help others but he can’t even help himself.”

Minho shot Chan a look, “you literally came into his room earlier to do coke...”

“I’m not his mom, and he’s a grown ass man. The drugs make him happier. I’m just telling you that he’s not stable. He’s a good person. Despite... well considering you’re here you probably don’t fault him for what happened but, he is really good.”

“I don’t fault him.”

“Don’t get too close. When he leaves at the end of the week, just thank him and go.”

Minho shuddered at that, taking a sip of the bitter alcohol. 

“He likes you. You like him. That’s cool, but once he leaves... I don’t want him to fall into a bad place because he caught misunderstood feelings for a guy he met.”

“What am I supposed to do about that?”

“Don’t fuck him.”

_ Whoops.  _

“He’s already buying you expensive shit... it’s only a matter of time before he asks to stay here longer.”

“What’s wrong with him staying longer?”

“He’ll get stuck in a fantasy. And then he won’t want to leave.”

Minho took a deep breath, “you’re basically asking me to distance myself.”

“Just don’t get too involved with him. It’s not good for either of you.”

“I thought you weren’t his mom?”

Chan laughed, giving Minho a small grin, “I can see why he likes you... but for both of your sake, just let him help you out, set you up somewhere comfy so you can get back on your feet, and let him go.”

Minho wanted to retort, but he didn’t know Chan. And he didn’t really know Changbin either. He was a really great guy from what Minho knew, and despite the drug use... he didn’t seem dangerous. He seemed.... okay. 

The  _ song _ . 

Minho directed his attention to the stage, the song that had caught him the other day bringing light to his eyes. 

“Oh?” Minho ignored Chan, fixating on how Changbin’s fingers moved as his lips sang the familiar tune that he’d fallen in love with, “this song...”

Minho kept watching, eyes glued to the stage. He couldn’t register Chan anymore. He, in a way, kinda let Changbin drown him out. It was working, too. 

Minho wasn’t sure what it was about this song, but the despair filled his soul. Every lyric and strum of the guitar had Minho melting into peace. He needed this song forever. It’s really all he needed. 

* * *

After parties. Minho didn’t know much about them, he’d never gone to one before. But perhaps he hadn’t expected it to be like  _ this.  _

It felt like he was at a club, though this was someone’s expensive rental. The music was too loud and the drinks were everywhere. 

The drugs too. 

Minho had to remind himself that for these people, this was very normal. Minho’s only encounters with drugs before this was when someone tried to get him hooked on adderall in college. He never took any. And really, Minho had never touched drugs. 

Changbin had been mingling a lot. He  _ had  _ managed to see Minho for a few moments before being dragged away, but Minho really wished he could cling a little more. 

He didn’t know anyone else. Chan was... somewhere. But Minho didn’t know him well enough and based on what Changbin had said, he probably wasn’t the comfiest company. 

Minho felt so out of place. He took a deep breath as he crossed his arms over his silky red shirt, making his way around people who were too fucked out to speak to him. He felt congested. This wasn’t his scene. And he didn’t really think it was Changbin’s either, but  _ clearly _ it somehow was. Maybe. Or maybe Changbin was just pretending he liked this atmosphere. 

Minho? He hated it. 

He managed his way upstairs, the music still blasting in his ears as he stepped around a woman doing a line on the staircase and a couple making out. 

This wasn’t the place he wanted to be anymore. 

Part of him should have just left, but another part wanted to stay for Changbin. 

And maybe that was a mistake. 

Changbin wasn’t property. He wasn’t in a relationship with Minho, but something about seeing the musicians lips on a girl Minho had never seen was making his stomach crawl. And he watched for too long. He couldn’t pull away. 

Changbin was latched onto the girl, clothes messy and breaths heavy as they ran their hands up each other like vultures. 

Minho didn’t want to feel agitated, but he was. Was Changbin going to offer to fix this girl too? Was Minho just a fixer upper? That’s what he assumed now. Changbin didn’t actually care if Minho had come or not. He was just dangling him around. He’d cut him loose. It was only a matter of days anyways. 

“Hello?” The girl looked up from her hazy kisses, giving Minho a scowl that had him looking away quickly, “can we help you?”

Changbin turned, eyes half lidded and lips puffy. He mustn’t have registered Minho at first, because he looked just as annoyed. 

“No.” Minho whispered, Changbin’s eyes widening like his voice had snapped him out of his frenzied state, “I was just leaving.”

Again, Minho had no right to be upset. The rational part of himself was telling him that. But it still kinda burned. He wasn’t sure why. 

Maybe it hurt all the more when he closed the door and made his way back down the stairs. 

Changbin didn’t follow. Hell, Changbin didn’t do anything. That fucking sucked. Minho was under the impression that Changbin cared somewhat about his feelings, but this? He wasn’t even going after him. Did he care? Was he fucking that girl? Fuck. Minho shouldn’t have cared so much, but he felt dirty. He felt dirty and used and disgusting. It was his own fault for sleeping with Changbin, but he just thought that deep down Changbin actually gave more shit about him. Which was stupid. He shouldn’t have ever thought that. 

Minho drew a breath as he managed his way through the crowd again, forcing his way to the front door so he could get out of this hell. 

But like clockwork, he ran into someone. Maybe the worst possible person he could have ran into. 

Minho’s eyes were glossy, and he knew he’d cry any second. But for some reason as his gaze met the man in front of him, only one thing ran through his head. 

“Can you give me some coke, Chan?”

* * *


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi this is where another suicide attempt comes into play! It’s not that graphic but it exists!
> 
> Also this is fiction and Minho is being very irresponsible here do not copy him!!!!

* * *

“Can you give me some coke, please?”

He was going to burst out into tears. Which was unfair. He shouldn’t be bordering crying. He shouldn’t be so upset. He didn’t know Changbin. He wasn’t dating him. He knew Changbin would be leaving soon anyways, why did he selfishly think he was somehow special? 

“What are you talking about, Minho?”

Minho wanted to cry. 

“Just give me some coke, I know you have some.”

“I’m not giving you—.”

“Please, Chan?” Maybe Minho’s pleads were enough, “you said it makes Changbin happy, right?”

Chan frowned, pulling Minho by the arm into the hallway, “Minho, what happened?”

“Right? I just want to be happy. Can I please get some?”

“You’ve never used, have you?”

“I have,” he lied, “Please?” Minho could feel the tears start down his cheeks. He was being irrational. But he was upset. He was so fucking upset and it wasn’t even Changbin’s fault. 

“Changbin would kill me—.”

“He’s upstairs fucking some girl, can I please have some?!” Minho raised his voice, Chan giving him a sullen glance. 

“Fucking Changbin...” Chan reached into his pocket, taking a small bag of white powder from his pocket, the second Minho saw the pouch he moved his fingers to grab for it, Chan pulling away harshly. 

“Chan...”

“Don’t tell him I gave you any.”

Minho bit his lip, “he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t care.”

“Minho.”

“I won’t.”

“Fuck, fine.” Chan handed Minho the bag, Minho shoving it into his own pocket as he wiped his eyes against the silky sleeve of his shirt, “I’ll call you a cab back to—.”

“I want to walk.”

“It’s raining—.”

“I don’t care.” Minho didn‘t say anymore. He just pushed past Chan to make his way to the elevator. He just wanted to go. He wanted to disappear. 

He was being irrational. He was being so irrational. 

But he didn’t care. He just wanted to... Fuck, he didn’t know. It was like he was back in the same place he’d been in days ago. He wanted to crawl into his car and hide. 

But he couldn’t. He didn’t even know where his fucking car was. 

Minho sighed out as he stepped into the rain, body shaky at the coolness as it drenched his shoulders and chest. 

Why hadn’t he just stepped into the traffic that day? What was stopping him? 

Changbin was a false hope. He wasn’t sure why he had put any faith into him. It wasn’t even fair. He shouldn’t have done any of this. 

The rain was unbearable after a few moments, and even though Minho knew the hotel wasn’t far, he would have loved a cab right then. Somewhere that wasn’t cold. Somewhere else. 

Minho couldn’t even keep up with his tears as he walked through the downpour. He felt terrible. And he knew he’d done it to himself. 

Why the fuck couldn’t Changbin just let him die? Why did that stupid song have to play at that stupid lounge? Why was the song perfect for him and his situation? Why did he have to hear it? Why did Changbin pick him for his stupid fix-it-up project. Minho wasn’t a project. He should have fucking known. 

Changbin would be gone in a week's time anyways. And he wouldn’t remember Minho. He’d probably find some other suicidal person on the street to take in. 

Minho hated this. He hated it so bad. But thank fuck the hotel came into view. Thank fuck.

* * *

Minho felt numb as he brought the warm towel to his face. He’d slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Whatever was lying around that he could get into.

He wasn’t even sure what he was going to do. The baggie of cocaine was staring him in the eye. And maybe at the time he’d begged Chan for it, he had more knowledge as to what he was doing. But now? He wasn’t so sure. 

Overdose? That would suck, wouldn’t it? Minho didn’t want to get addicted to anything. He just wanted it to kill him. At least that’s what he’d wanted in the moment. Now he was eyeing the bag in agony. He didn’t know what to do. 

Minho emptied the entire contents onto the table, pressing grains between his fingers with a huff before using the side of his hand to separate little lines as he’d seen in movies. He didn’t have a card or anything to make nice, thin lines, but this would have to do. He didn’t care anyways. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t remember doing this anyways. 

This was a bad idea. Minho stared at the white lines, pressing his thumb to one side of his nose. 

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know at all. He was emulating what he’d seen at the party. What he’d seen in movies. 

It wasn’t hard. 

The smell was weird, and the second he did it instant regret rang through his mind. He could feel the cocaine hitting the back of his throat, causing him to shake his head uncomfortably. 

But it wasn’t hard. And it wasn’t terrible. 

Minho rubbed at his nose with irritation before staring down at another messy line. 

This was stupid. But Minho wanted to die. He didn’t care. No part of him cared right now. 

So he did another, and this time he felt horrible. Minho pushed himself away from the table, rubbing at his nose incessantly as he shut his eyes tight. 

He didn’t understand the joy in this. 

A minute passed and he felt nothing. Part of him figured he should try again, but soon he could feel it. The numbness. And he felt hot. Really hot. Minho had never been on drugs, and he had no idea what to expect. But the heat and lightness were unexpected. And nice. They were really nice. 

Minho looked down at the table, watching the white powder a moment longer before taking one last hit, shuddering as he pulled away. 

He didn’t feel great. He actually felt more anxious. 

Maybe that was the point. Minho took deep breaths as he sat at the bed. It had been a few minutes maybe. Five? Ten? He didn’t know anymore. He just felt  _ off.  _ His heart was racing and he could barely keep himself upright. 

Fuck. 

Minho pulled himself up from his spot, stumbling into the bathroom. His face was flushed, and he could see a trickle of blood running down his nose. He hadn’t even realized his nose had started to bleed. 

Everything felt so heavy. And he was sure it was supposed to be the opposite. 

Fuck it. 

Minho glanced around the sink before finding a pair of scissors. 

Fuck it. 

Minho took the scissors in hand, and took the deepest breath he could. His heart was racing. Was he supposed to feel this horrible? Maybe that was the high. He didn’t know. 

All he knew was that he was miserable. And as he dropped the scissors into the sink and hissed at the horrifying sensation, he knew he probably fucked up. 

But he didn’t care. Minho pressed his hand to his chest as he drew the curtain back, sliding himself into the empty tub with a pained huff. 

He was so stupid. But he was also too tired. Too anxious. Too hurt. 

Minho shuddered despite the heat, closing his eyes tight as his head began to throb. 

_ Fuck it. _

* * *

Minho woke up to chills. He was freezing. The second he came to he tried to pull himself up, only to be shoved back down harshly. 

And it only took seconds for his eyes to meet Changbin’s, who was looking at Minho with an expression he couldn’t place. 

Which unfortunately meant, he wasn’t dead. But fuck, he wished he was. It was so cold. Changbin had filled the tub with fucking cold water?! 

“Let me—.”

“Shut up.” Changbin interrupted, giving Minho a harsh look, “what the fuck did you do?”

Changbin was pissed. Of course he was. 

“What did  _ you  _ do?! I didn’t come here to be saved!” Minho yelled defensively as he brought his arm up, catching the freshly placed bandage at his wrist. 

“Shut the fuck up, Minho.”

“No!” Minho shoved Changbin back, head spinning as he pulled himself out of the cold water. He was freezing. He was shaking. And he wasn’t in his right mind.

Changbin watched him on the floor, face full of hurt as Minho watched him from above. 

Minho didn’t say anything, he reached for the bandage and yanked it off. He was pissed the bleeding had stopped. And he was pissed that Changbin had helped him. 

He really couldn’t even kill himself right. 

“Minho.”

Minho shook his head as Changbin started to get up, making his way out of the bathroom as his emotions started to fill his head again. 

Why did he come back here? Why didn’t he go somewhere else?

Minho took a deep breath as he reached the living room before digging a nail back into his wrist, Changbin grabbing and spinning him harshly. And this time he couldn’t even fight him. He just collapsed. He was shaky from the cold and from the stupid wetness escaping his eyes again. 

Why wasn’t he dead? Why did he wake up? 

“Fucking idiot...” Changbin whispered as he encased Minho tightly, helping him down to the floor and rocking him carefully, “why did you do that, Minho?”

Minho couldn’t respond, his wrist started to hurt again with the small action he’d performed seconds ago, Changbin’s hand wrapping around it and pressing against the pathetic wound. 

“Across. You went across.” Changbin whispered into Minho’s hair, “you don’t even want to die, do you?” 

Yes he did. Right?

“If you wanted to die...” Changbin pulled away, watching Minho with pained eyes as he rolled his sleeve up, “you knew how. You don’t want to die, Minho... you want to be saved.”

Minho didn’t retort. He didn’t do anything. He just collapsed against the musician, tears lulling him back into peaceful slumber as Changbin kissed his hair. 

Across. He knew that. He knew that across was... he knew. Why didn’t he do it right? Why didn’t he do it properly? Why couldn’t he do anything properly? 

Why was Minho so lost?

* * *

Minho woke up warm. He was in a huddle of blankets, head throbbing and stomach tight. He felt nauseous as his eyes scanned the dark hotel room. He was alive. Though he wished he wasn’t. He felt terrible. Everything stung, and his nose was irritating him. Everything was irritating him. 

Everything except the fingers in his hair. Changbin’s fingers.

“Hey...” Changbin whispered, eyeing Minho closely, “are you okay?”

Of course he wasn’t. 

Changbin adjusted himself so he was level with Minho, moving his hand to cup his cheek. But there was no extra warmth. Just guilt. So much guilt. 

Minho broke down within seconds, burying his face and sobbing selfishly into the sheet as Changbin closed the space between them, wrapping himself around Minho again. 

But he felt no warmth. He just felt more and more guilt. He was so selfish. 

“No you aren’t, Minho.”

Minho sniffled through his sobbing, he must’ve been talking out loud. 

“You’re not selfish, you’re not.” Changbin whispered, running fingers through Minho’s hair. 

Minho couldn’t respond, he just cried. Because what else could he do? He’d tried to kill himself and failed again. He was constantly craving attention.  _ Attention _ . He didn’t even want to fucking die, he wanted Changbin to find him. He wanted him to feel more  _ guilt _ , and for what?!

“I’m so sorry.” He sobbed, clinging to Changbin as the younger man brought a hand to Minho’s back, rolling circles against his spine carefully, “I’m so sorry I did... I’m sorry.”

“Shush, stop apologizing.”

He couldn’t. He felt guilty. He was selfish. He was a guilty selfish prick. He wished he wouldn’t have woken up. He didn’t deserve to wake up. 

“I’m so sorry I did this... I just, I really want—.” He couldn’t even finish, he was starting to choke on his own words. 

Minho was numb. Numb yet full of pain that he couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Minho, stop. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

No. Changbin hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“N-no—.”

“I was high. I was stupid and high. I should have gone after you. I should have helped get you home.”

Minho shook his head. He felt so shaky and numb, “it was m-me. I’m being selfish and—.”

“You could have died.”

Minho buried his face. 

“When I got here... you were breathing so rapidly I had to beat on your chest and fill the tub to calm you down. You nearly overdosed, Minho.” Minho closed his eyes as tight as he could, struggling to breathe as Changbin comforted him, “I was so scared you were going to die...”

Minho felt even worse. 

“Do you want to die, Minho?”

The question was so serious. And it took Minho too long to understand that. 

“Minho?”

“No,” he croaked out before curling himself into the younger man, clinging to him bitterly as he shivered through his sobs. 

He didn’t want to die. Not really. He didn’t. He didn’t know what else to do with himself, but deep down he knew he didn’t really want to die. 

“What do you want, Minho?”

Minho took a heavy breath as Changbin pulled away, running a hand against Minho’s cheek. 

He didn’t know what he wanted. He just wanted to be happy. He wanted to be comfortable. He didn’t want his life to be such a shit show. 

So he contemplated, eyes peering open to find Changbin crying silently before him, his hand finally warm at his cheek. 

“I just want someone to actually care about me.”

Minho didn’t register much else. Changbin dragged him back into him, peppering his hair in kisses too intimate for their relationship. And Minho, through frustration and guilt, fell asleep again.

* * *

Minho had a headache. As he woke up to a room too bright he couldn’t help but squint and let out an agitated groan. 

“You’re up?”

Chan? 

Minho sat himself up in the bed, rubbing his eyes before glancing over to the man settled on the other bed, tapping a cigarette over the side table before extinguishing it quietly. 

“What are you...?”

“Changbin asked me to watch you. He had to go for his performance.”

Minho frowned at that, bringing his legs to his chest and looping his arms around them, “I slept all day?”

“Changbin said he gave you some painkillers sometime this morning and you’ve been out ever since.”

“I don’t remember...”

Chan gave Minho a worried look, “why did you do that, Minho?”

Minho arched his brow, “do?”

“Why did you take my coke and...” Chan shook his head, leaning back against Changbin’s headboard, “Changbin is mad at me.”

Ah. 

“I didn’t tell him where I got it from.”

“Yeah, I kinda told him that you took some from me a few minutes after you left.”

“What?”

“I asked where he was and dragged him out of there and told him you weren’t safe.”

Minho grit his teeth, but at the same time he was oddly thankful. 

“I told him it was me who gave you the coke.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“He told me I can make up for it by babysitting so... here I am.” Chan sighed, “how’re you feeling?”

Minho bit his lip, “I’m okay.”

“Changbin wouldn’t tell me anything besides the overdose thing... I did notice your wrist though, are you okay?”

Minho inhaled deep, “I’m fine. I’m just really... I had a lapse in judgement.”

Chan pulled up from his spot on Changbin’s bed, settling at the side of Minho’s. His eyes were  _ so  _ focused on Minho’s wrist. 

“I won’t do it again. I don’t know if you know anything about... I cut the wrong way. I didn’t actually want to kill myself. Not really anyways.”

“That’s good.” Chan sighed. 

“Why do you do it?”

Chan blinked, “do what?”

“Drugs.”

Chan watched Minho for too long before turning to face him at the bed, “what's your story?”

“What’s yours?”

“I asked you first. Why did Changbin take you in?” Chan asked, clearly changing the conversation from the cocaine, “what’s made you feel so lost?”

_ Lost.  _

“It’s none of your business, huh?”

Chan rolled his eyes, reaching out suddenly to take Minho’s wrist, “you used my coke to do this, you made it my business.”

Minho took a deep breath as Chan reached into his pocket again, and for some reason Minho didn’t mind how Chan had flipped his arm over to expose his wrist, laying Minho’s hand against his knee. 

“I’m sorry I did that.”

“So what’s your story?” A pen. Chan had a pen, popping the cap off with his mouth and pressing the ink to Minho’s arm. 

Minho watched Chan curiously, the man starting to draw lines around Minho’s bandage. 

“Did Changbin really not tell you anything?”

“Nada,” Chan responded, his focus on Minho’s arm. 

Minho sighed, “a lot of bad things kind of happened in succession.”

“I have time.”

“My mom died. A little while ago. We were close so that kind of started things.”

Chan was quiet, giving Minho a soft look before continuing his... art? 

“I ended up losing my job because I snapped at a kid.”

“What was your job?”

“I was a teacher... for really young kids.”

Chan stopped, looking at Minho again, “you were a teacher?”

“I’d only been... I hadn’t been teaching long but I enjoyed it. When my mom passed away I kinda snapped. I didn’t take enough time off and it really...”

“You were close?”

Minho nodded, “she was my best friend I guess? I know that sounds lame but... she was terminally ill so I knew it would happen but...”

Chan frowned, “it’s not lame. I wish I had a relationship with my parents. But they... yeah they don’t really pay me mind. I think it’s a good thing, having a close relationship.”

Minho half smiled at that, “anyways... probably silly to include but the cat she bought for me died soon after. She was kind of my last link to my mom, so I just... it felt like the world was against me.”

Chan continued to draw on Minho’s arm, Minho finally noticing the lines connecting to create vines and flowers... they were intricate, really pretty. 

“I... I lost my home too. After my...” Minho too a deeper breath, almost choking on air, “my ex. He...”

Chan’s eyes left Minho’s arm again, “take your time.”

“He cheated on me,” Minho forced out, “he purposefully... it was bad. So I just... on top of everything else I just couldn’t do it anymore. Once I lost my apartment I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Chan whispered, trailing his fingertips along Minho’s wrist, “nobody deserves any of that. Especially not in succession.”

“I just... I feel stupid for even being here right now. I feel like I’m burdening him.”

“He’s a really caring person. Fleeting, but caring.”

Minho caught onto that, eyeing Chan curiously. 

“He’s going to do everything he can to help and then he’ll leave.”

“He told me what you did for him...”

Chan arched his brow, “he did?”

“Yeah... you really care about him. He says you’re not serious but... you seem to be.”

“Changbin likes to keep people away from me.”

Minho wasn’t sure how to take that, “what do you mean?”

Chan tapped Minho’s arm, “he just... I don’t know. I don’t know what to say about him. He just likes me to stay out of his business I guess.”

“That’s weird?”

Chan laughed, finishing the petals of one flower before slipping the cap back onto the pen, “he seems to tell people that I’m this cold person to keep them away from me. I don’t know why, maybe cause he’s worried I’ll steal his projects away.”

“ _ Projects _ ,” Minho frowned, “Changbin said it wasn’t like that...”

“How does it feel to you?”

“I don’t want to think of it that way.”

“He’s a good person, don’t get me wrong. Minho, you seem really...” Chan trailed off, “he’s not going to stay for you. He’s going to give you money and leave. That’s what he does.”

“You told me to stay away from him so he wouldn’t stay?”

Chan nodded. 

Minho pursed his lips, “I’m confused?”

“He won’t stay. For anyone.”

_ Oh.  _

Minho parted his lips,  _ oh.  _

“When you told me to stay away, you weren’t protecting him were you?”

Chan shot Minho a  _ telling _ look. 

“You were protecting me?”

“It’s  _ very _ easy to fall for Seo Changbin. And he’s not a bad person, but he won’t stay for anyone. You could offer the world and he’ll still leave.”

_ Oh. _

“Did you fall for him?”

Chan sighed, “I really care about him. I speak from experience when I tell you to not get too attached to him.”

“You’re his best friend?” 

Chan shrugged, “yeah. But I’m still telling you to not get too attached. I think his way of coping with his past is helping people. But he won’t return any feelings. I’m sorry to say...”

“I trust that he wouldn’t just... I mean I just met him but... his music alone is enough to give me some sort of comfort with him.”

Chan scoffed. 

“Is that funny to you?” Minho snapped, “you saw how that one song grabbed my attention, right?” Chan smirked, “his way with words... he sounds so truthful and—.”

“That’s my song.”

Minho paused, processing the information that chan had just told him. 

“Actually, all of the songs are mine.”

“I...”

“I didn’t want to mention it the other day. You seemed really happy with Changbin’s music. Maybe I should have told you but...”

“He didn’t write them?”

Chan shook his head, “I did.”

“Why wouldn’t either of you tell me...? He... he knows that I like that song? That it speaks to me?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“The song feels so personal... like it was made just for me...?”

Chan bit his lip, tapping Minho’s wrist, “I’m sorry. I wrote it.”

“Did you write it for him?”

Chan shook his head, “no.”

“Why does he perform it then? Did he steal your—.”

“No. The song was written for myself. It was a personal thing, and it wasn’t even a song at first. It was just... a poem? It sounds stupid now but Changbin read it and he really liked it.”

“Did he know how personal it was to you?” There was more to Chan. He just wouldn’t let Minho in. 

“Not really. I said he could take it. And then I said he could take whatever he wanted.” Chan shrugged, “I just write things and he takes them for his music. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t get credit?”

“He’s my friend...”

“I don’t get it... why would you let him take your music for free?”

“I don’t mind.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“When he sells digital copies he lets me design the artwork. It’s enough for me. I’d rather be recognized for my art than my writing.”

“But the music is so... why don’t you perform them?”

“I’m not a singer. And I can’t play guitar for shit.”

“So everything... it’s you?”

Chan nodded, “don’t be mad at him. He probably didn’t want to disappoint you. He  _ was  _ trying to keep you away from me anyways.”

“Why?”

“I told you... he really doesn’t like his projects mingling.”

_ Oh.  _

So Chan was a  _ project  _ too?

“You’re a good artist... Changbin said you were struggling, is that true?”

“Art is hard. I’m not splashing masterpieces onto buildings or canvases. I like pens and pencils over paint brushes. It’s harder to grow that way. Nobody wants ink or graphite anymore.” Chan shrugged, “I like what I do. Even if nobody else appreciates it.”

Minho frowned, holding up his arm, “you’re so talented. And you wrote those songs too... you should be getting more credit.”

Chan shrugged, “it’s whatever to me. Honestly.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

Minho lay back down, pulling the covers up over his shoulders, “can you tell me what happened with you? Changbin said you saved him but you’re making it sound like he saved you.”

Chan watched Minho, “it’s like... we kind of saved each other I guess?”

“Could you tell me?” Chan had dodged Minho’s questions every other time. 

Chan drew a breath, “well, what he told you was true—if he told you what I think he did. I came into his life at an interesting time. He was kinda dealing with his parents kicking him out and I was struggling even more than I am now. We met in university, kind of? I was on the verge of dropping out and he was freshly enrolled. Neither of us went back the next year but... we kinda clicked well enough. I offered to bring him to a party and I guess that’s where I fucked up.”

“He said he started doing coke because of a party... was that the one?” Minho asked as Chan moved from the bed to lay on Changbin’s, facing the ceiling as he brought a hand to his stomach. 

“Yeah. I was already using... had been for years. He got hooked and it was like... suddenly he felt better? Like he was really depressed before but the moment he got his hands on that drug... I don’t know. It healed him.”

“So why won’t you let me—.”

“It wouldn’t heal  _ you _ . And honestly, it’s a facade. Cocaine isn’t good. And I’m...” Chan laughed, “I started going to meetings. Like... some druggies anonymous thing. I asked Changbin to come but he laughed it off. I don’t think I can get him away from it. But I’m trying. It’s not entirely effective, but I’ve met a lot of people who I’ve been hanging out with instead of my usual crowd. And I know I still have bags sometimes but... I’m slowly weaning myself off I think. At least I hope I am.”

Minho watched Chan's expression change. 

“With Changbin... I introduced him to a producer I knew. I met them at another party and... they kinda asked me to scope out and find talent I guess? They gave me coke in exchange for introducing Changbin.”

“You helped boost him, he said.”

“Yeah... he’s where he is because of that introduction. Things just got increasingly better for him. And when that person overdosed...” Chan bit his lip, “I couldn’t help but cover for him. I mean... he didn’t kill them at all? He didn’t deserve to have his life ruined because someone else decided to very willingly take drugs.”

“Was it willing?”

Chan inhaled, “yeah. I swear. I was there for the start of it... they wanted to. They were as confident as you were. Just... really wanted it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was just a mess. Changbin tried... you know?”

“He said you found him when he tried to... hurt himself.”

Chan nodded, “yeah... I wasn’t supposed to go to his hotel room. But he wasn’t responding to me and I was panicking.”

Changbin said Chan wasn’t serious, but that must’ve been a huge lie. 

“I called an ambulance and tried to stop the bleeding. I didn’t think I’d ever... it was just a mess. At the time I was already fucked up too so... seeing that kinda snapped me out of things.”

“You keep avoiding what happened to you.”

Chan gave Minho a weak smile, “nothing happened to me. I was just depressed for no reason. My parents and I never got along but my siblings and I have a good relationship. I might have been struggling with my art, but I was always content enough. I just... I kinda fell.”

“There’s always a reason.”

“Not really. I was fine, and then I wasn’t. It hit at random and Changbin seemed to gravitate to me because we were both going through that weird emotional shit. We bonded well over it.”

Minho watched Chan, examining his features, “did you love him?”

_ Ah.  _

Chan’s fingers twitched, “I was a project to him after a while. While he  _ recovered _ , I got worse. When he was sure I was better enough he left town. Sure, he comes back, but he makes sure he’s distanced from me. And he keeps everyone else away from me too.”

“Why?”

“Friend or not, he really wants to keep his success stories away from one another. It sounds shitty, but the only reason I’m here is because he didn’t know who else to call. And he’s punishing me for interfering.”

“He sounds so...”

“I love him, I do. He’s my closest friend and though he hasn’t always been there, we’re still close. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just not someone you should glue to. Because he  _ will  _ leave. He won’t stay.”

“So what would he do if I wasn’t better when he left?”

“He’d give you all the money in the world and make you feel like you are okay, but in the end he’d still leave.”

“When is he coming back?”

Chan closed his eyes, “who knows. Minho, if I fall asleep do you promise not to die on me?”

Minho laughed, “you tired of me?”

“In general, I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah... go ahead. Thank you for telling me more about Changbin... and you too.”

Chan nodded his head, seeming to fall into slumber quickly as Minho watched. 

He couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised by what Chan had told him. He was. In ways he really didn’t expect what he’d heard. Changbin, though being really sweet, wasn’t someone Minho should be putting so much trust into. 

Changbin had felt comforting, but Minho had no reason not to believe Chan. Chan had written the songs anyways... and it made more sense now that Minho really thought about it. At the show when that  _ special  _ song came on, Chan had said something. Minho wished he could remember what it was but... perhaps it made sense now. 

Minho glanced over to Chan’s sleeping form before reaching over to turn out the light. 

He had a lot to think about. And maybe a lot to ask Changbin about. But it would have to wait till the next day. For now, he really just wanted to get more sleep.

* * *

Minho woke up to a dim room. He could feel warmth at his back, and as he turned he could capture Changbin asleep beside him. He reeked of alcohol. Minho sighed as he turned himself completely, brushing hair from Changbin’s face that was drenched in sweat. 

Changbin was just as careless as Minho. 

He wouldn’t wake him right now. Later. 

Minho shuffled out of the bed, noticing Chan was still asleep as he managed his way to the bathroom. He contemplated showering for a bit as he stood in front of the sink, but he decided against that too. 

Instead he looked at the flowers on his wrist. Chan was really talented. Even if the flowers were just doodles... they were beautiful. Minho would tattoo them... part of him actually thought a tattoo of these flowers would be really nice. 

He huffed, peeling the bandage back to grimace at his self-inflicted wound. Why had - he done that? 

Changbin was right. He knew which way to cut. Maybe at the time he knew he didn’t actually want to die. 

Minho traced the cut, cringing at just how stupid he was for this. It wasn’t even  _ that  _ deep. Yeah, he could have overdosed maybe. But this sole cut wouldn’t have killed him. 

He stared longer, more focused on the flowers than the cut itself. And now his head was racing in thought. 

Chan wrote the song.  _ The _ song. 

It was odd. How things had altered so drastically. 

God, he’d have to talk to Changbin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t even sure what to say to him, but he should tell Changbin about the song... and that he meant what he said about not actually wanting to die. 

Why did this all feel so complicated?

Minho leaned down, splashing his face with water before looking at himself in the mirror, water trickling down his chin. 

Why did he make everything so complicated?

Was it his fault? 

Minho watched himself a moment more before leaving the bathroom, sliding back into the bed beside Changbin who was undisturbed. 

He would worry the next day.

* * *

Minho woke up with a congested nose. He felt groggy and lightheaded as he rose from the bed again, the room much lighter now that the sun was shining through the window. 

Changbin was still asleep, though in a new position where he had curled into Minho’s back. Chan wasn’t in the bed, but Minho could hear the sink in the bathroom running. So he must’ve been in there. 

Minho could wait for Chan, but he figured he should talk to Changbin. 

“Hey,” Minho whispered as he nudged the man calmly, “Changbin?”

The younger man whined at that, nuzzling his face into the sheet as Minho tapped him again, “what?”

“It’s morning.” Minho said as the younger man peered his eyes opened, giving Minho an agitated look, “and I kinda wanted to talk to you...”

“About what, are you okay?” Changbin asked calmly as he struggled to lift himself from his place, hair sticking up in places while other pieces stuck to his cheek and forehead. 

Minho took a hand to Changbin’s hair, smoothing down the messy bits, “I’m okay. I feel a lot better now...”

“Did Chan take care of you?” Changbin asked before glancing at Minho's wrist. 

“Yeah, he did.” Minho replied. 

“He doodled on you?” Changbin scoffed, taking Minho’s wrist into his hand, “he’s so weird...”

“I actually really like it.” Minho whispered back, “he’s really nice, actually. I expected him to be...”

“He is nice.” Changbin yawned, “is he still here?”

“Bathroom.” Minho spoke, “but... can I ask you something?”

Changbin blinked away sleep and offered a nod, “yeah?”

“Did you write that song?”

Changbin seemed hesitant, like he was figuring how to respond. But that only confirmed what Chan had told him, “no.”

“Chan did?” Minho asked, leaning back against the headboard. 

“You guys talked a lot, huh...”

“Yeah... he didn’t say anything bad about you though. He just... told me a little more.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the songs... you just seemed so happy—.”

“That’s what Chan said too, that I seemed too happy to know. I’m not mad at all.”

Changbin frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay...”

“What else did he say—.” Changbin asked before his eyes lingered to the bathroom, the door opening and Chan standing in the doorway. 

Minho turned towards Chan before directing his attention back to Changbin, “nothing bad, we just talked a bit.” He wouldn’t mention what Chan told him. He didn’t want to hurt Changbin at all, though Minho was sure he’d be more hurt than Changbin in the end anyways. 

“You didn’t give him anymore, did you?” Changbin asked as Chan made his way to the side table to pick up what Minho believed was his phone. 

“He didn’t.” Minho spoke quickly. 

“I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t know that he—.”

“Good.” Changbin took a deep breath as Chan slipped his shoes on, “are you leaving?”

“Yeah. I have things to do.”

The vibe had altered. Chan was so tense, and clearly Changbin was in some way enraged with Chan. It was clear in his tone. 

“Okay.” Changbin whispered as Chan made his way towards the door. 

Minho would have said something more, but Chan was quick to leave. And to keep the two of them from getting too angry at one another, Minho figured it would be best to stay quiet. 

“Can I get you anything?” Changbin asked, “when’s the last time you ate?”

“Ah, I haven’t eaten in awhile have I?”

“No...” Changbin brought a hand to Minho’s face. His touches were so intimate for someone who probably didn’t want anything to do with him beyond helping out. 

“Okay, let me order us some breakfast then.”

Minho nodded as Changbin grabbed for his own phone, tapping away in silence. 

And maybe he couldn’t really stay quiet, “can I ask you something important?”

Changbin looked up from his phone, “yeah, anything.”

“You leave in like... two days?”

Changbin nodded slowly, “yeah...”

“I’m sorry for doing what I did... I really am.”

“Don’t apologize. I know that you’ve been in a bad place...”

“When you leave, how will I keep in contact?”

Changbin inhaled, “you should get a phone so we can—.”

“Will you keep up with me after this?”

“Minho what did Chan say to you?”

Minho frowned, “please don’t blame Chan for anything.”

“What did he say?”

“The truth. He told me that you were leaving regardless. He told me to not get too close to you either.” Changbin furrowed his brows, “he said not to sleep with you. And I thought at first it was because he didn’t want me near you, and that he was protecting you but... you’re leaving no matter what, right?”

Changbin seemed so uncomfortable. 

“He didn’t want me to rely on you... to fall.” 

“Minho—.”

“I guess I just want to know if that’s true. That you’re going to vanish. And I’m not mad, I’m not blaming you. I know you have a life and a career. I know that you’re helping me because it helps you cope.”

Changbin parted his lips to speak, but nothing escaped his lips. He watched Minho wordlessly. 

“It’s okay if it’s true, Changbin... I’m not going to hurt myself again. I was being irrational and honestly... something about almost dying really puts things into perspective.”

“I’m sorry, Minho...”

It stung a little. Just a little. 

“It’s okay... I’m not mad at you.”

“I really just... I wanted to help you.”

Minho closed the space between them, watching Changbin closely as their noses touched briefly, “I know.”

Changbin was so tense. 

“I like you... I do. You’re really sweet and... maybe in another life this would make sense. We just met and you really... don’t fall for me. It was the song, right? The song made you fall?”

“Partially... I think I just liked having someone care for me too.” Minho backed up, “I won’t... pursue anything. I shouldn’t have even assumed it was like that in the first place. You’ve given me no reason beyond sleeping with me when I asked the other day... I’m sorry.”

“I feel like I’ve led you on... I didn’t mean to. I just honestly wanted you to be okay. I’d love it if you would talk to someone from your past, anyone who seems genuine. Maybe you can get some stability back and... I’m worried about you. I want to help you.”

“I know you do.” Part of it felt fake, but another part felt very real. Changbin  _ did  _ want to help Minho, but whether it was for Minho or to satisfy his own self was another thing. 

“Can I still help? In any way... we can contact someone? I can help you look at apartments? Maybe I can find someone to help find you another job?”

Minho smiled weakly, “yeah... but could I ask you one more thing?”

Changbin nodded, “anything.”

“Could you give Chan credit for your songs?”

* * *


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re being irresponsible here too!   
> Note: cock and coke are not good coping mechanisms friends

* * *

Looking through old messages with Changbin had been exhausting. Minho had again reactivated his account, Changbin deleting the message from Seungmin instantly as they scrolled through his inbox. 

People cared, maybe. Minho’s friend from his old school had continuously contacted him to either complain about the new staff, or to beg for him to contact him back. 

“This Hyunjin guy seems really nice.”

“We taught at the same school.”

“He sent you a message a week ago... dedication.”

Minho frowned, “I don’t know how to face anyone here. A lot of these messages sound so fake.”

“Your brain is just telling you that everyone’s against you.”

“Aren’t they?”

Changbin laughed, nudging Minho gently, “try to see the good in people. I’m sorry that some people have hurt you, but it seems some are genuinely worried about you.”

Minho glanced at the screen, “maybe.”

“Maybe we should show them you’re okay?” Changbin suggested, “we could take a photo or post a still of something?”

Minho felt heat rise in his chest, “I don’t really want Seungmin to find out where I am.”

Changbin frowned, “Minho...”

“I just... need more time.”

Changbin closed the laptop, sitting up at the bed, “I know you said that you think you’ll be okay... but after what happened last night I’m just... I’m really worried.”

“I promised I wouldn’t hurt myself again.”

“I’ve heard that one before... I’ve used that line before.”

“I’m serious.”

Changbin’s brows were knit, “I just really... I was serious when I said it would break my heart to read about your death.”

“I won’t die.”

“I need to know you’ll be okay, Minho. I’m not convinced.”

Minho leaned into the younger man, squinting as he rested his chin on Changbin’s shoulder, “what if I stayed close?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think you can help me get a job around here? That way you can visit me?”

Changbin pursed his lips, “you’d want to stay in this area?”

“Chan’s here too. He could keep you up to date if you’re  _ actually  _ worried.”

“Of course I’m worried. Contrary to whatever Chan said to you, I do care. And you’re not a project... I know he probably said that to you but Jesus, that’s not what I think at all.”

“Would that work then? Me staying in the area?”

Changbin took a deep breath, “it might. It’ll soothe my nerves.”

Minho wiggled his nose, “so will you help me?”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’m not magic but... I can try to get you an interview? You do realize that... you can’t do drugs, period.”

“I’m not dumb, I know.”

“If I can’t find a regular teaching job...”

“Subbing works. Anything works. I have a degree... I fucked up once but, maybe someone will pity me?”

Changbin patted Minho on the head, “okay. I’ll look.”

Minho smiled, watching the computer screen before pulling back up to look at the musician, “Chan hasn’t responded to you, has he?”

Changbin sucked in a breath, “no, he hasn’t. I’ll probably see him tonight.”

“Two days left...”

Changbin glanced at the clock, “barely two... tomorrow is my last performance here. I leave the next morning.”

Minho frowned at that, “you should talk to Chan before your final show. About credits...”

“He didn’t seem to want them before...”

“Did you offer?”

“No.”

“He fell for you, didn’t he?”

Changbin closed the laptop slowly, “I think so, yeah.”

“Does he still...?”

“I hope not. I’m not good for him, at all.” Minho could see that. Chan and Changbin weren’t good for each other at all, “I don’t really... I’m not looking to settle right now anyways. I’m sorry again for leading you on...”

“No, that was all me. I just wanted someone to give a shit about me at any cost, honestly.”

Changbin watched Minho closely, “can I buy you nice clothes for tonight?”

“I can wear the others—.”

“You kinda ruined them when you wore them in the rain.”

“Really?”

“Yeah the buttons are all fucked.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, that just shows that brand is shit. Can I buy you new ones? You can pick this time?”

Minho smiled, “what if I dressed comfier?”

“As long as you’re not in jeans and a T-shirt I don’t think anyone cares.”

“Sweater?”

“...Sweater?”

“It’s cold, I mean. I like sweaters.” Minho pouted, “I think I’m just... I miss dressing like a teacher. I would wear sweaters all the time.”

“That’s so cute?” Changbin laughed, “wanna order now then?”

Minho nodded, sliding close to Changbin as he popped the laptop opened again.

* * *

“It’s amazing how you somehow get same day delivery.”

“The shop is literally in town.” Changbin laughed, slipping the necklace around Minho's neck, “you say you dressed this way as a teacher?”

Minho nodded, “yeah... black pants and a sweater. It was my look I guess?”

“Good thing you’re not a high school teacher. You would have had a thousand little admirers.”

Minho cringed at the thought, “gross.”

“I’m serious, you’re really attractive. And you just... you always look really good.”

“You’ve literally seen me at my worst...”

“And you still looked stunning.”

Minho smiled at that, “thanks... Oh, did you talk to Chan?”

“Still not answering my messages. I know he won’t ignore me tonight though. I’ll catch him after the show.”

“Is he okay?”

Changbin nodded, “he does this often. He probably wants to keep away since I was kinda snappy this morning. I’ll apologize when I see him.”

“Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks... you don’t have to come to the after party if you’re not comfortable by the way. I don’t know... what I’ll be doing.”

“I’ll be fine. We kinda talked about how I kinda jumped on you like that...”

Changbin laughed, “yeah... I’m still sorry I’m not... you know.”

Minho shook his head, “it’s better I found out before I lost it when you left.”

“Are you going to be okay when I do leave?”

Minho wasn’t sure. But he’d have to trust himself. He wanted to be okay. It was clear to him that he didn’t actually want to die at least. He was just... still awfully miserable. 

“Yeah. I think so.”

“If you see Chan before me, can you ask him to talk to me?”

Minho nodded, “yeah, of course.”

“I guess I should head out then. Lots of practice before this stage... and lots of conversing with artists I don’t really remember befriending.” Changbin sighed as he looked Minho over, “you look really nice. Don’t ruin this outfit, okay?”

“No more running off in the rain. If I panic I’ll ask for a ride or ask the owner if I can call a cab.”

“Or you could stay put and safe.” Changbin laughed, giving Minho’s shoulder a light squeeze, “I’ll see you later. Order some food and you can call a ride service and just put it on my tab. The numbers are in the drawer.”

Minho nodded, “okay. I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll credit Chan on stage.” Changbin spoke up as he slung his guitar case over his shoulder, “he really deserves more than what I’ve given him... especially since he’s still writing for me.”

“You should... maybe ask him first. Since the songs are so personal.”

Changbin scrunched his nose, “catch him before the show for me. I won’t do anything without his ‘okay’.”

Minho nodded again, offering a small smile as Changbin made his way out the door. 

Alone felt weird. But he was confident he would do his best to push his thoughts aside, though maybe logging back into that photo account was a bad idea. But he was curious, and Changbin  _ had  _ left the laptop. 

Minho glanced at the main page, a lot more bare with all of the photos of Seungmin erased via Changbin insisting they do it together earlier. It was nice. Minho’s feed was pretty. He kind of missed this app, but then again... too many bad memories. 

He drew a breath as he went to messages again. Maybe he should message Hyunjin like Changbin has suggested. Maybe he could help him find a new job—. 

Minho titled his head at the message requests to the side. They hadn’t looked at them earlier but there were 5 unread accounts in there begging for his attention. 

And Minho couldn’t resist. 

One was a clothing store, two more were music pages, one was a girl he recognized from his teaching job, and the other... 

Minho took a deep and uncomfortable breath as he previewed the message. 

_ Felix.  _ The freckled neighbor that was with Seungmin. Minho didn’t blame Felix. Felix didn’t know that Seungmin and Minho were dating. Well, he  _ kinda _ blamed him. Felix shouldn’t have started dating Seungmin after what happened that embarrassing afternoon... but Minho couldn’t change the past. 

Felix was apologetic. He was apologizing to Minho. It was earnest, long, and genuine enough. Felix had been a good neighbor. He was a little reserved, which was most likely how he had no idea that Minho was dating Seungmin. Felix was... really kind from what Minho remembered. Maybe that’s why seeing him in Seungmin’s arms made him feel a hundred times worse about what had happened. 

_ “I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t know you were ever together... and by the time I found out we’d already... I don’t think he told you, but we’d been seeing each other for awhile. I had no idea that you two were together.” _

Minho released a shaky breath. He wouldn’t falter. He wouldn’t do that. As much as it hurt, he wouldn’t let it destroy him. He promised Changbin. 

“Shit...” Minho whispered, accepting the message and staring at the keyboard. He wasn’t even sure what to say. Was he supposed to thank Felix for ruining his life? Was he supposed to thank him for apologizing? 

The fact that Seungmin has been seeing Felix was... fuck. 

Minho wanted to run. He wanted to run badly. 

But he promised. But he wanted to leave. He wanted to leave. 

And fuck, all those bad thoughts were coming back up and haunting him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this at all. He wanted to explode. He didn’t  _ want  _ to die. He had to remind himself. Death wasn’t something he wanted. He just wanted the pain to go away. He wanted it to cease. 

He wanted the stupid coke again. For fuck sake, why did he want coke again?

Minho closed the laptop, curling into his side as he clutched either side of his head. 

Why was this happening to him? Why couldn’t he erase this shitty situation? Why did he think he’d be okay? He was faltering. He wanted to die. He needed to d—.

The door opened, causing Minho’s heart rate to spike. He didn’t want Changbin to see him like this. Because Minho knew he’d have ruined everything he’d told Changbin. And then Changbin would feel bad and he didn’t want Changbin to feel bad. 

“Hello?”

Minho pulled himself up, vision fogging as his eyes met the familiar brown haired man who was cocking his head to the side in thought. 

“Minho, are you doing okay?”

Minho watched him closely. He didn’t want to cry. 

“Chan...”

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to...”

_ Fuck.  _

“Do you want me to call Changbin—.”

“No. Do not fucking call him.” Minho rose from the bed, standing in front of the confused man. 

Chan was shorter than Minho. He wondered how old Chan was. He must have been around their age, right? If he wasn’t that would be alarming. 

Minho sucked in a breath as Chan watched him, brow arched in question. 

“Minho?”

He needed distraction. And maybe he was a piece of shit for doing this  _ again _ , but he couldn’t help himself. 

Minho grabbed either side of Chan’s face, pressing their mouths together hastily. And surprisingly Chan didn’t push him off at all hell, Chan didn’t do much of anything. He made a soft squeaking noise of surprise, but after that he was silent. 

This was probably another  _ mistake _ , but Minho was going to spiral. And his heart told him to stop thinking with his brain for once. Hence shoving Chan into the wall, parting his lips against Chan’s as one hand left the man’s cheek to travel down to his stomach, feeling up his hoodie to find muscle. 

Chan was  _ so  _ toned. Like... he must’ve worked out. His stomach felt... really incredible. The kind of stomach that would make anyone jealous. 

He wasn’t pushing Minho away. Chan parted his lips, his own hand snaking up Minho’s hip. 

_ Okay.  _ Maybe he wasn’t doing something wrong, because Chan was pressing into the kiss, and his hand had found its way under Minho’s sweater to run his hand up Minho’s side. 

_ Fuck.  _

Minho pulled away from Chan’s mouth hesitantly, scanning the man’s expression that had altered into something comparable to lust, “is this okay?”

Chan let out a shaky breath of his own as he glanced down to Minho’s stomach, pulling up the fabric to observe Minho’s flesh. 

“Chan?”

“Yeah... what  _ is  _ this?”

Minho slipped his hand to Chan’s jaw, the hand at his stomach moving to cup over Chan’s cock, that was  _ considerably  _ hardening by the second. 

Chan hissed at that, getting a firm grip on Minho’s side that had Minho’s head spinning. 

“Can I ride you, Chan?” Chan let out another shaky noise as Minho pressed his hand against Chan’s clothed cock.

“Fuck... what? Yeah, yeah you can.”

Minho took no time dragging Chan from the wall to his bed, pushing Chan onto his back as he climbed up his chest, crashing their lips back together, one hand at Chan’s jaw again as the other snaked down his pants. 

Chan moaned against Minho’s mouth as Minho’s fingers pressed against Chan’s underwear, one hand still resting at Minho’s side as the other clutched at the sweater at Minho’s back. 

Fuck. He didn’t want to ruin these clothes. 

Minho pulled away, Chan giving him a longing look as he sat on Chan’s stomach, pulling the sweater over his head and tossing it onto the other bed before reaching down to the new pair of pants. 

Chan was shaky, eyes glued to Minho. 

“New clothes... Changbin told me not to fuck them up.” Minho whispered as he unbuttoned and lifted himself up to pull the pants down off of his hips. 

Chan nodded in understanding, leaning up slightly to help Minho pull the pants off and toss them to the other bed before leaning back with a shaky sigh, both hands running up Minho’s thighs. 

Minho couldn’t help but shudder at the sensation, running his hands back up Chan’s shirt. 

“Clothes... I want to see you, Chan.”

Chan was shivering, pulling himself up to ghost his lips against Minho’s before pulling his own sweatpants down slowly, pillowy lips meeting Minho’s again with ease. 

His lips were  _ perfect _ . Perfect distraction and just simply perfect. Minho could latch onto Chan’s mouth forever. Anything to forget. Anything to cloud his thoughts. 

“Minho... is this okay with you?” Chan asked as Minho pulled Chan’s sweatpants over his shoes, forcing his shoes off afterwards. 

“Minho?” Chan sighed before sitting himself up again, hands traveling up Minho’s waist as Chan adjusted himself, “can you answer me, maybe?”

Minho watched Chan closely, “I asked you to do this, why wouldn’t it be okay?”

Chan scanned Minho’s face, “you’re upset.”

“Yeah, help distract me.” Minho snapped, pressing his lips back to Chan’s, bucking his hips into Chan’s with a soft gasp. 

Chan seemed to falter, running his hands up Minho’s bare back as his tongue flicked into Minho’s mouth. Maybe it was an accident, but it only encouraged Minho to push himself deeper into Chan, rolling his hips against the man’s clothed length. 

Chan didn’t feel as large as Changbin. It might take more to hurt him, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to fuck him. He needed it to hurt. He needed to—.

Minho found himself on his back suddenly, eyes wide as Chan pressed his knee between Minho’s legs, pinning his arms above his head suddenly. 

_ Oh?  _

He figured this was just as fine. If Chan wanted to manhandle him, Minho wasn’t going to stop him. 

But Chan watched Minho for too long. And he wasn’t fucking him. He wasn’t kissing him. He was just watching him. 

“What?” Minho asked with irritation laced in his voice, “why’d you stop?”

“You’re  _ really _ upset.”

“No shit, why won’t you fuck me?” Minho spat back, Chan’s furrowing his brows in response.

Chan took a deep breath before pulling himself off of Minho, tugging his sweatpants back over his hips to Minho’s dismay. 

“Why are you stopping?”

“I’m not fucking you like this.”

“Are you joking?” Minho pulled himself up, anger rising in his chest, “you acted like you wanted to moments ago?! What the fuck changed?”

“You’re upset.” Chan sighed, slipping a hand through his hair, “what are you doing, Minho?”

Minho was... borderline enraged, “can we please have sex?”

“I changed my mind.” 

_ Fuck. Why?! _

Minho shakily pulled himself off of the bed, reaching for his sweater before being pulled back by Chan, spun back to face him as he stood in front of Minho. 

“What?”

“Minho, what happened?”

Minho tried to pull away, tears threatening to spill as he bit into his lip harshly. 

Chan must’ve noticed. He pulled Minho into him, both arms wrapping around his securely, “what happened...”

He didn’t want to be held. He wanted to be hurt. Because being held didn’t replace these feelings. Getting fucked into the bed would. He knew it would. 

“Why won’t you?” Minho choked out, hands shaky as they met Chan’s waist. 

“Because you’re upset...” Chan whispered, sliding back down onto the bed with Minho in grasp, helping him settle over Chan’s lap. 

Minho was so shaky. He didn’t want to break down. He just wanted sex. He wanted something to replace this shitty feeling in his chest. He was so fucking sick of Seungmin’s impact. 

Chan pressed a light kiss to Minho’s hair, rocking him gently in his arms, “Minho...”

“Why...” Minho whimpered, clinging to Chan with desperation, “why can’t you just...” he was crying. He could feel and taste it. He didn’t want to cry. He was so sick of crying. 

Chan rubbed his back before lifting Minho slightly, reaching over to grab his own hoodie before sliding it over Minho’s head, “lift your arms...” he whispered, Minho obeying to allow Chan to pull the hoodie over Minho’s frame. 

His clothes were bigger than Minho’s. Bigger than Changbin’s. 

His hoodie felt comfortable around him. It felt warm. It smelled like cigarette smoke, but it was oddly comforting. 

“Lay down.” Chan whispered as he pulled them back in the bed, helping lay Minho’s head down against the pillow as he draped the blanket around him. 

Minho was trembling, eyes glued to Chan despite the water retreating from either eye. 

“Can you tell me what happened? Did Changbin do anything to you?”

Minho shook his head, reaching his hand to clutch into Chan’s sweatpants. He didn’t want him to leave. He needed him to stay. 

“It wasn’t Changbin? So what?” Chan asked calmly, running his fingers through Minho’s messy hair. 

“I don’t... can’t.” Minho couldn’t say it. It was embarrassing. It hurt. He was hurt. 

Chan sighed, laying down beside Minho to watch him, “you’re a mess, aren’t you?”

Minho would take offense if he wasn’t feeling so fragile and defeated. 

“That day I walked in on you and Changbin... you had marks all over your neck.”

Minho sniffled. 

“Were you upset that time too?”

“I just need a distraction... I need to replace.” Minho choked out, clinging hard to Chan. 

“Replace what?” Chan asked, laying beside Minho carefully, hand resting in Minho’s hair as the other reached for Minho’s fingers, “what are you trying to distract from?”

“Seungmin...” Minho whimpered, burying his face into the pillow as Chan ran his thumb across Minho’s knuckle. 

“How about you cry it out instead? I’ll stay with you.”

“I don’t want to think about it anymore. I just want to fuck... I want to do anything but this.”

“That’s not good.”

“I... do you not want to have sex with me?” Minho asked through sobs, chest tight and head starting to throb at the thought.

Chan sighed, “that’s not what you need with now, Minho.”

“I-I want it though...”

“No.” 

Minho hid his face, body shaky. He didn’t want these thoughts to linger. He needed something else. 

“He really hurt you... what happened?”

“Cant... I don’t want to talk—.”

“I’m not fucking you. I said no.” Chan was firm, “So we can talk or we can lay here in silence. It’s up to you.”

Why couldn’t Chan be like Changbin? 

“He... I can’t. I can’t.”

“Silence it is.”

Chan was serious. For far too long the room had fallen silent, the only sounds coming from Minho’s own sobbing and whimpering against the bed. He was still trembling despite the warm hoodie, and he couldn’t focus. He just wanted his heart to stop crackling. He wanted to forget about Seungmin. 

Minho wasn’t even sure how long it had been, but with time he’d calmed himself enough to close his eyes and settle his thoughts to the point he could fall into slumber.

* * *

Minho’s head throbbed. As he peered his eyes opened he couldn’t help but watch the man beside him. Chan was still awake. 

“Wh-what time is it?”

“I texted Changbin that you weren’t feeling well.”

“His show—.”

“You have time if you still want to go. He goes on in a couple hours.”

“Hours...”

“You didn’t sleep that long.” Chan answered, pulling himself upright, “do you want to go?”

Minho nodded, pulling himself up from the sheets to rub at his eyes, “I need to shower first...”

“Okay. Do you need help at all?”

Minho shook his head, dragging himself out of the bed and making his way to the bathroom. Part of him still wanted to collapse, but the other part was holding onto his well-being. 

The shower water was as hot as he could make it without blistering his skin. It wasn’t enough to distract him mind, but it would do for now. He wasn’t going to get shit from Chan apparently. This was his only option. 

He felt sick to his stomach. 

Minho hated Seungmin so much. He hated how Seungmin made him feel. He hated that he couldn’t get that man out of his head. And it hurt. So bad. 

Why wouldn’t Chan just fuck him?

Minho felt himself trembling again, and he slowly descended to the bathtub floor, curling into himself as the water hit his skin. 

He just wanted these feelings to disappear. Why did he even care so much? Why did he look? Minho sniffled as he buried his face into his knees. 

Minho’s head spun as the sound of water filled his ears. 

And then something else hit his ears. 

Minho peered up from his shell, eyes panning to the door. He pulled the shower curtain back slowly, leaning towards the door calmly. 

Singing?

Minho kept the shower on, climbing out of the tub and wrapping the fresh towel around his waist. He pressed his ear to the door, eyes widening in surprise as he heard the familiar melody. 

_ The song.  _ Chan was singing the song. He was singing the song Minho loved. The song that made him feel safe and happy... Chan was singing. 

Minho sat against the door, eyes closing as Chan’s voice filled his ears. 

His voice was  _ lovely _ . It was different from Changbin’s in that it was... Minho couldn’t place it. It was unique. Something he’d never really heard. But maybe his brain was just fogged up. 

The song... it suited Chan so much. Minho kept his eyes closed as Chan sang. Was he singing  _ for  _ him? Chan said he didn’t like music but... his voice was perfect? Minho didn’t understand. 

Chan’s voice rose higher in parts that Changbin’s hadn’t. And he held his notes longer. And... How was Chan not singing? 

Minho pulled himself up, quickly turning the shower off and heading towards the door, noticing Chan’s voice fading into whisper at the lack of water. 

Maybe Chan wasn’t singing for him. Maybe he was just singing? 

Minho pressed the door open, watching Chan at the bed. He had his eyes closed, fingers tapping against his stomach. 

He didn’t really want to address the song, but he also felt like he had to as he crossed the room to stand beside where Chan lay. The song was just...  _ perfect _ , and it was Chan’s. Chan made that song. 

Minho took a deep breath as Chan forced his eyes open, giving Minho a pondering look, “are you okay? Was your shower nice?”

“Can you tell Changbin we’ll be a little late...” Minho whispered as he crawled over Chan, the man blinking in surprise. 

“Minho...”

“Stop me... if you want me to stop. I’ll stop.” Minho whispered, studying Chan’s face. 

And maybe Chan didn’t want to stop. His face said otherwise, his cock said otherwise. Maybe his heart did too. 

“This isn’t me trying to distract... I want to.”

Chan took a sharp breath, running his fingertips along Minho’s arms that were planted on either side of Chan’s head. 

“You... I heard you. Your song.”

“ _ My _ song.” Chan whispered back, no retort in his tone. 

Minho watched Chan a moment before the man reached over to the side table, tapping at his phone before sliding the phone back, hands reaching for Minho’s hips. 

_ So it was settled.  _

After moments of staring back at one another, Minho finally moved, pressing his lips down against those pillowy cushions, Chan hooking an arm around Minho’s waist in response, dragging Minho’s body down against his own. 

_ What were they doing?  _ Did it even matter? Minho was sound. He was. He wasn’t doing this to spite Seungmin. He wasn’t doing this to hurt himself. Something about Chan’s voice had struck something inside of him. And it was  _ too much  _ to resist. Not that Minho wanted to. 

He reached a hand to pet Chan’s face, their tongues twisting together through lazy kisses. It felt nice. Exceptionally nice. 

Minho pulled himself up, slipping the towel from his waist and getting a  _ hiss  _ in response from Chan, the man running his hand along Minho’s exposed hip and settling against his stomach. 

“You’re really beautiful, Minho.”

_ How could Minho resist?  _

“Can I see you?” Minho asked as he moved himself carefully, bringing a hand to Chan’s stomach to graze his nails against muscle before reaching the hem of his pants. 

Chan’s noises were soft, expectant. And he moved slowly, pulling himself upright to pull his pants and underwear down, Minho’s breath hitching at the realization that this  _ would be  _ happening this time. And Minho couldn’t take his eyes off of Chan. Not off of the definition in his thighs or off of the precum trickling down his cock. 

Minho watched Chan closely, Chan reaching up to grab Minho’s chin as he ran his thumb against Minho’s bottom lip before pulling Minho’s lips back to his own. 

Minho crawled into Chan’s lap, either side of his legs around the man’s hips. And he couldn’t stop the whine that escaped his lips as Chan’s cock pressed against his own, tingles running down his spine. 

It felt  _ surreal _ . In a way Minho felt heightened. Maybe it was the shower. Maybe it was just Chan. Minho wasn’t sure, but every touch had him burning up considerably. 

“Does he have anything?” Chan asked against Minho’s lips, causing Minho to melt into him, chest pressed against Chan’s own, “Minho?”

Minho took a moment to respond before reaching into the side drawer, feeling around until he grasped at the similar bottle from the time he’d fucked Changbin, “just...” Minho bit his lip as he continued to feel around, Chan’s mouth at his neck and collar as he desperately searched for a fucking condom of all things. 

“What?” Chan asked hesitantly, pulling from Minho’s neck to bring a hand there instead, running his thumb against the back of Minho’s neck in soothing fashion. 

“I can’t find a condom...”

“I’m clean...” Chan whispered calmly, “I don’t have any with me either.”

Minho sucked in a breath before crashing their lips back together. 

_ Whatever.  _

Minho pressed the bottle of lube into Chan’s free hand as the man grabbed a handful of Minho’s hair, caressing his scalp as they kissed. 

His body was so hot. He felt  _ so  _ hot. 

Chan was pumping their lengths slowly, kisses even lazier as Minho shuddered in his lap. It was oddly  _ electrifying.  _ Very different from when he slept with Changbin. 

Changbin had been very careful and rough, and Chan was messy and slow. But messy and slow was tearing Minho apart at the seams. And he couldn’t get enough. He found himself rutting against Chan as the sound of a popping lid filled his ears and the cool sensation of lube hit his rim. 

Minho moaned out desperate and expecting, body shaky as Chan left his mouth to travel to his neck again, finger cautiously filling Minho’s muscle with enough ease. 

He was shaky, clinging onto the man that had Minho’s life in his hands. 

“Do you still want to ride me?” Chan asked softly, lips and teeth grazing Minho’s skin as he curled his finger, eliciting a shaky gasp from Minho’s lips. 

_ Fuck.  _

“Yes—yes, please.” Minho begged as Chan tugged Minho’s head back carefully, sucking against the skin at his neck as another finger made its way into Minho’s walls. 

The sensation was too much. Minho felt so lightheaded yet heavy at the same time. Chan’s fingers were causing his eyes to roll back while his lips and teeth kept Minho alert. 

“Chan...” Minho whispered as Chan curled his fingers again, brushing against his prostate unexpectedly. 

“Hm?”

“Lube...” 

Chan let Minho angle his head back down, handing Minho the bottle of lube that Minho carefully coated over his fingers before closing the bottle and tossing it onto the other bed, sliding his fingers around Chan’s cock to bring out another  _ hiss _ . 

Minho moved his hand slowly, coating every inch of Chan’s cock with the slick substance, focusing his thumb against Chan’s slit to drag out long and needy whines. 

He hadn’t expected Chan’s voice to be this  _ lovely _ . Not one bit. 

Chan pressed his fingers deep, causing Minho to release a staggered moan and throw his own head back, Chan’s hand still at the back of his head and forcing Minho back up, Chan’s mouth colliding  _ again  _ against Minho’s. 

Their kisses got sloppy, Minho whimpering in pleasure as Chan started to pump his fingers, drawing out consistent noises between the two of them. 

“Chan...” Minho gasped, sliding his free hand down Chan’s abdomen, nails digging into his flesh, “please...”

Chan’s fingers were slow in leaving Minho’s rim, the man wiping them against the blanket as he helped pull Minho up carefully, eyes glued to Minho’s as he helped position his cock to Minho’s muscle. 

“Are you sure about this? Entirely?” Chan asked softly, eyes never leaving Minho’s face. 

Minho nodded, moving his arms to loop loose around Chan’s neck as he rolled his hips against the head of Chan’s cock, “I’m sure... I’m so sure. Are you?”

Chan nodded, pressing himself into Minho slowly, Minho throwing his head back against Chan’s hand as Chan filled his walls. 

His stomach was tight as Chan bottomed out, thigh muscles clenching and breath erratic at the sensation of being filled. Chan was  _ longer _ than Changbin. Minho clung to chan as he adjusted, staggered breaths as Chan’s lips grazed Minho’s throat again before finding their way to Minho’s, reassuring pecks as Chan’s hands moved from their positions, one resting at Minho’s back as the other wrapped around Minho’s cock. 

“Ah, Chan...” Minho whimpered out, the man taking no time in moving his hand against Minho’s sensitive cock. 

“Hm? What is it?” 

His voice was so fucking nice. 

“Move, please move...” Minho whispered, trying his best to move on his own to no avail, tension building in his stomach fast. 

Chan nodded, stifling a laugh against Minho’s lips again as he gave a gentle thrust upwards, chasing Minho’s toes to curl. 

Minho tightened his grasp around Chan’s neck as the man increased his pace, keeping their mouths together and his hand steady around Minho’s cock. 

His head was spinning, Minho desperate and whimpering in bliss against the man. He was unraveling fast, coils in his stomach ready to burst as Chan thrust into him with more liberation. Chan was gentle and precise, managing to hit Minho’s prostate at the perfect time, sending Minho into an euphoric state.

“Chan... cum, I’m gonna cum...” Minho whimpered as Chan laughed against his lips again, pumping Minho’s cock calmly. 

“Already?” 

Chan held Minho tight, thrusts sending spasms down Minho’s spine, his eyes rolling back as Chan kissed the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t last much longer. He was surprised he’d lasted for so long anyways. He was losing grip on himself, body shaking and mind elsewhere. 

“Minho? You can cum if you want.” Chan whispered, pressing soft pecks down Minho’s shoulder as he held Minho close. 

Minho’s body tensed, his grip on Chan tight. He didn’t want to release so quickly, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help the warm feeling of cum splashing against his stomach as he came. And he couldn’t help but release long and steady moans as Chan lowered Minho onto his back, his thrusts just as precise and fulfilling. 

His head was spinning again, but this time it was positive. He was seeing stars as Chan moaned against his neck, kisses so lazy and unfocused as Chan’s movements became more focused. 

“Where should I?” Chan asked, breath shaky as his thrusts slowed and his body trembled above Minho. 

Minho might have regretted it later, but his body was begging to be filled. 

“Inside...” he whispered calmly as Chan angled himself, giving a few deep thrusts as he ran his hand up Minho’s face, caressing his jaw carefully. 

As overwhelmed as Minho was, nothing soothed him better than the feeling he experienced as Chan came inside of him. Through shakiness and heavy breaths he felt at peace. 

And as Chan stilled on top of Minho, cock buried inside of him, Minho couldn’t help but reach for Chan’s face, beckoning the fucked out man to kiss him, their breaths and kisses messy. 

But it felt  _ so  _ nice. 

After what felt like a half hour, Chan rose himself off from Minho’s chest, pulling himself out and rolling onto his side. He looked so tired, his fingers barely able to run against Minho’s stomach. 

“You look sleepy.” Minho whispered, finally speaking through the silence, “do you want to sleep?”

Chan laughed, watching Minho longingly, “we should clean up...”

Minho opened his mouth to retort, but the memory of sleeping after having sex with Changbin lingered. He’d rather clean up than wake up a sticky mess again. 

“Okay, shower?” Minho asked, eyes half lidded as he brought fingertips to Chan’s puffy lips. 

Chan nodded slowly, pressing the slightest kiss to Minho’s fingers before helping Minho out of the bed.

* * *

“Changbin wants to talk to you.”

They had sex. Minho had sex with Chan. He was registering after another half hour that they had sex.

“He kept messaging me.” Chan sighed, hands in the pockets on his jacket as he stood beside Minho in the same lounge Minho had met Changbin in. 

“I asked him if he could credit you...”

Chan turned to face Minho, lips parting slightly, “why?”

“Because you wrote them. I told him to talk to you before just in case you weren’t comfortable...”

Chan took a deep breath, “it’s not discomfort it’s just... I don’t want people to look down on him for not writing his own music. Honestly, I don’t need the credit.”

“Why don’t you like music?” Minho asked, brushing his black sweater with his hand, “you can obviously sing?”

“I just don’t really think about it... I like art. I like drawing.”

Minho tilted his head, “I like your art too. I like your voice as well...”

Chan laughed at that, shaking his head in disbelief, “you’re flirting.”

“What if I am?”

“I think we’ve passed that, haven’t we?” Chan beamed before turning his head, his smile faltering. 

Minho turned with him, noticing Changbin hurriedly leaving conversation to make his way towards them. Chan seemed tense. Why was Chan so tense around him? Clearly he’d had some sort of feelings for Changbin, but there seemed to be something  _ more _ that was lingering. Not feelings but... something else. Minho couldn’t place it. 

“Hey... Chan, I’m so sorry for getting so mad at you earlier.” Changbin started, giving Minho the slightest smile of reassurance before his eyes lingered back to Chan, “I don’t have long but can I ask you about something?”

Chan took a deep breath, “credits?”

“How did you...?”

“Minho told me.” 

“Oh?” Changbin gave Minho a hopeful look, “so how do you feel about me crediting you?”

“Don’t.” Chan spoke flatly. 

“Why not?” Changbin asked. 

_ Why wouldn’t he want credit?  _

“I’m cool with never taking credit. It’s fine. You should get on stage.” Chan whispered back, expression still. 

“Chan, I don’t mind?”

“It’s fine.”

_ Was it fine?  _

Minho frowned as Changbin’s eyes lingered back to him, clear worry on his face. 

“Okay, I’ll see you after the show then.”

Minho’s eyes gravitated to Chan as Changbin left. His face was still yet he seemed so unfocused and torn up. His eyes said it all. 

“Are you okay?” Minho asked worriedly. 

“Yeah... bathroom. I’ll be right back. Stay here.” Chan inhaled, giving Minho a gentle tap at the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd behind. 

Minho wanted to go after him. But he also wanted to talk to Changbin. But deep down his brain was telling him to stay put. Because he still didn’t know either of these men very well, and he didn’t want to follow Changbin and disregard Chan. But he also didn’t want to follow Chan and disregard Changbin anymore than he already had. 

So Minho took a deep breath, and he waited. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I don’t know why on earth I have to do this but please do not reupload my work under any circumstances. If you’d like to for any reason please message me first, do not reupload my work. If you see my works on wattpad please report them, I will never grant permission for wattpad.  
> [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/skzorcism)  
> [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/Str4y)


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